Dragon Age: Connections
by serrah.hawke
Summary: What if every Warden had been enlisted? This is the tale of the Ten Heroes of Ferelden and how they came to defeat the Fifth Blight, as well as the connections that bind them through Origins, Awakening and DA2.    Note: game-novelisation, romance abound!
1. Author's Notes

**DRAGON AGE: **CONNECTIONS

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><p><span>Fic Notes<span>

Genre: Fantasy, action/adventure, romance  
>Rating: M (will become apparent later on)<br>Couplings: various, warnings will be given at top of relative chapters

Author's Notes

By way of explanation, this fanfiction is a novelisation of my various PCs' and OCs travels through Thedas, throughout the Blight and  
>onward. It incorporates the events of <em>Dragon Age: Origins<em>, _Awakening_ and _Dragon Age 2_. It includes all the available origin stories,  
>as though all of the potential wardens were recruited, and all in one big team, written as though the full party were present in each<br>encounter (if not, divided into various 'parties' for separate tasks.) Where possible, original dialogue from the game has been maintained,  
>as well as 'canon' events, but there is also lots of 'filler'- and fan- work to pad it out. Some DLC may be excluded due to personal preference<br>and experience, as well as some companions as according to my own personal play-through. Some characters have also been depicted as  
>they appeared in <em>Dragon Age 2<em> rather than as they did in their first appearance, e.g. Merrill.

If romance is not your bag then this will not be for you, there is an almost inhumane amount of romance in this fic, so if you can't deal  
>with everyone being paired off left, right and centre then hit the back button. In its simplest form, this is a novelisation of the game.<p>

Copyright

World, characters, _Dragon Age _universe, plot/story © _BioWare_  
>Origins wardens courtesy of <em>BioWare, <em>belong to me  
>OCs (Grayson, Anycia) belong to me<p>

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><p><span>The Ten Heroes of Ferelden<span>

Helene Mahariel. Michael Grayson. Fey Cousland. Briar Cousland. Kendal Tabris.  
>Koby Amell. Royal Surana. Anycia Draconis. Feryn Aeducan. Uren Brosca.<p>

The Champion of Kirkwall

Eden Hawke


	2. Chapter One: The Taint

**CHAPTER ONE:** THE TAINT

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><p><em>"The Chant of Light tells from whence the darkspawn came. When the Tevinter's magisters gazed upon the seat of<em>  
><em>the Maker in His Golden City and painted it Black. Cast out and down by the Maker Himself, back to the realm of <em>  
><em>Thedas, their sin tainted the land. Upon this blasphemy did they begin to twist into the shape of the dark sides of <em>  
><em>their hearts and, devoured by their own shadowed reflections and the sins within, became monsters.<em>  
><em>These were the first…"<br>_

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><p>Something had been brewing quietly for months now. A deadly plague, underground, slowly spreading. A silent killer. With deceased on the roadsides these days becoming more noticeable, one would assume that bandits were growing overzealous, desperate and more common by the day. Duncan knew better. He could sense it when conscious, not to mention in sleep. He did not need the lucid dreams of the archdemon's call to know that a Blight was coming, he was beginning to see it with his own eyes.<br>Here he was, investigating yet another attacked caravan, examining the bodies of the unfortunates. The smell of tainted blood was strong in the air, bolstered by the smell of death. The wind had dropped. It was a muggy afternoon and the scent was thereby permitted to grow stronger, more formidable. It wasn't carried, but it spread all the same, lingered. Soon, beasts would come for the carrion, and, Duncan suspected, become Blighted too. The taint would consume the land, and Ferelden – not to mention the whole of Thedas itself – would be overrun.  
>Duncan surveyed the area. The soldiers had been slaughtered, the innocents hung, their worldly goods aflame: a savage but intelligent attack. The caravan must have been misdirected, brought to a dead-end at the edge of this cliff.<br>Duncan had frozen over his heart in the long years of campaigning with the Wardens, had turned it to stone so he could better do the duty demanded of him, so he could be all together unfeeling. A stone heart nevertheless drops, drops like a pebble in water. His did so now as he toed a nearby corpse, rolling the dead man onto his back so his faraway eyes could gaze heavenward. He'd been impaled, run through by a sword that still remained lodged in his chest cavity. The weapon was rusted with age and grime from the bowels of the earth, blunt in places, and had a crude hilt that was torn and frayed. Unmistakably, a darkspawn blade.  
>It was not weakness to feel fear, but wisdom. Duncan, indeed, felt the fear of what was to come envelope him.<br>Refining his focus, he managed to compose himself enough to extend his scope of alertness, ready for the ambush that he knew was approaching him. The hair on the back of his neck and arms stood on end, and his blood boiled intensely with that unmistakeable sixth sense all Wardens had grown accustomed to. _Darkspawn. Here. Now.  
><em>The creature was but inches behind him. A muscle in his leg jumped, telling him to pivot, and he did, turning and grabbing the monster by its sword arm. He threw all his weight behind the lunge, and didn't even recoil at the feel of his fingers seeping into the rotting flesh of the creature's arm. This dance was one he was used to. He hurled the darkspawn to the cliff edge, disarming it as it fell before using the sword to run its accomplice through. The hurlock let out a feral roar, its blood belching out from its wound. Duncan twisted the blade, plunging it to the hilt, before pulling it free, allowing the creature to drop dead to its knees. Then he turned his attention back to the other, it still reeling from the shock of his counter-attack. Duncan stormed over and booted it off the edge of the mountaintop, watching as it fell down, down, down before splitting its head on the Brecilian mountainside below.  
>Left panting and weary, the ageing Warden wiped the spatters of blood from his face, now drained of colour. He was vaguely aware that he was shaking, and he dropped the sword numbly at his side.<br>So his suspicions had been correct, then… Darkspawn did not usually breach the surface, not often.  
>He was not getting any younger, and each battle grew more tiring than the last. The nightmares grew more intense with each passing day, and he knew his Calling was steadily approaching. But before he would commit to such an end, before he would fulfil the tradition of each Warden before him, he had to let this danger be known.<br>In the distance, a storm was brewing. Somewhere… Somewhere out there, nestled in amongst the cedar pines and ancient sylvans, was a direct tunnel to the Deep Roads, an abandoned thaig now overrun with darkspawn, and a gathering army. And who knew how many more were opening up across Ferelden? Who knew where the bulk of the army would focus, where the archdemon would appear?  
>Fire blossomed before Duncan's eyes, conquering centuries-old greenery and blackening the landscape before him. He could see them in his mind's eye: the darkspawn cutting through the forest, smiting down any human, dwarf or elf that stood in their way, burning all in their path. Puppets of the archdemon, desperately seeking out the song.<br>… This was only a taste of what was to come.  
>"Maker… help us all…"<p> 


	3. Chapter Two: Nomads

**CHAPTER TWO:** NOMADS

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><p><em>"This is the land where the sylvans sigh, where the wind sings, where the <em>Elvhen_ roam._  
><em>Do not stray here, for you are not welcome.<em>  
><em>You are not of the People, and you are forbidden."<em>

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><p><span>Helene<span>

All was quiet within the south of the forest. The occasional ebb and flow of a slight breeze tousled the branches of the Brecilian trees and whipped at the outcroppings of stone in the hillside. The birds did not twitter nor crow, sing nor warble, and the Halla remained solemn in their silence as though they, too, had foreseen what lay ahead.  
>Sat with her legs folded beneath her, a pair of milk-white, point-tipped ears knifing through her hair, was a young Dalish by the name of Helene. Here she rested, calmly, a longbow curved elegantly in her lap while she waxed the bowstring precisely and efficiently, lost in her focus.<br>A few yards away, nestled amongst decaying foliage and the withering outreach of a single elfroot, was her pack, which happened to currently be filled with miscellaneous herbs and some bread tucked into a cloth for a light meal later on in the day. At that moment, however, her companion was making headway towards the rough leather rucksack on the ground with a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, distorting the sepia tattoo that framed them.  
>"Tamlen," Helene broke the silence, not even raising her head. She <em>felt <em>more so than spotted her friend closing in on her goods. "I'm afraid you'll have to be much stealthier next time, _lethallin_,"  
>"Creators, do you have eyes in the back of your head?"<br>Helene quirked a smile but didn't answer, simply finished caring for her weapon before holstering it tenderly, reaching over her shoulder to check how seamlessly she could withdraw an arrow from her quiver. Once satisfied, she glanced to her companion, who was brushing his mop of shaggy blond hair out of his eyes.  
>They were out hunting, which in itself encompassed many activities. Hunting for game, scouting for any signs of <em>shemlen<em> or Templars, reconfirming their territory. They were to assess whether or not remaining here would be a threat to the clan, though Helene had already heard rumours that their Keeper wished to move on. Something about unrest to the south and some disturbances in the north-west… about darkspawn….  
>"Let us be off, Tamlen," Helene said shortly, straightening to her feet and making her way out of the clearing, brushing back a fern that was almost the same size as she. She didn't wish to think about threats to the clan, not on such a nice day as this.<br>Tamlen, who'd collected her pack on her behalf, suddenly grew serious despite his previous playfulness, his blue-grey eyes turning almost silver in focus. "_Ma nuvenin_, _lethallan_," He said, lightly placing his hand in a patting gesture between her shoulder blades before overtaking her and scouting on ahead.  
>Helene watched him go, exasperated. Tamlen was all fun and games as soon as they called for a break, but the 'Last of the <em>Elvhen'<em> façade won out when he was in hunt-mode. She knew what he was hoping for. He wanted a human to initiate an attack, demanded a fight with a trespasser. On days like these he almost sought them out, and as much as Helene cared for Tamlen it embittered her feelings towards him. He did not have to prove to her his love of the clan by returning with the head of an innocent. _Shemlen_ or not, they were individuals as much as they were. No, unlike the others, Helene did not agree with targeting humans. Merrill was the only one who shared her view, which was almost unexpected. Helene forged on through the foliage behind Tamlen, reflecting. Merrill, their Keeper's First, despite all her desires to reclaim their lost culture and history, did not bear a keen prejudice against humans. The three of them had grown up together, as they all had in the clan, and Merrill provided the appropriate balance to Tamlen's brooding hate.  
>Helene was snapped from her thoughts when, without warning, Tamlen started running.<br>She glanced up quickly, lips parted in shock. She knew better than to question his actions, however. Whatever quarry he was tracking should not be startled. She followed him, light and agile on her feet. The two of them barely made any noise as they dashed on, back onto the path that wound like a vein through the body of the forest.  
>Tamlen withdrew his bow, and Helene followed suit, though she did not like how tense with adrenaline he seemed. Her actions were hollow, copycat. It didn't appear he was tracking wildlife, that was for certain.<br>When her friend stopped up ahead of her, Helene did too, he storming out into the open and she hidden by the brush. Her bow was held low and unthreatening – she wanted to assess the situation first from a few feet back before charging in.  
>She heard the pound of feet on the forest floor, gasping, and then caught sight of a figure sliding then tumbling into view. Tamlen had run right into a desperate, winded human male, whose flame red hair was mussed atop his head, eyes wild. "It's a Dalish!" The man cried back to the two men that came to a slow halt behind him, gesturing, frustrated, at the elven male before them.<br>Tamlen narrowed his eyes. "And you three are somewhere you shouldn't be," He formulated his words with conviction, cold and void of mercy. He'd armed his bow, arrow pulled back ready to fire, shot aimed at the floored man.  
>"Let us pass, elf, you have no right to stop us," The elder of the <em>shemlen <em>trio barked as his companion helped the cowering man to his feet.  
>Tamlen positively glowered, holding his bow more threateningly. "No? We will see about that, won't we?" His tone was mock casual, but threatening. He stared the trespassers down, making them step back with just a glance.<br>Helene sighed, flexed her arms and rubbed an ache in the juncture between her neck and shoulder. _Tamlen… the situations you get me into. _She took up an offensive stance to match her partner, albeit a badly duplicated one. An empty threat. She stepped up behind him before sidestepping into the fray.  
>Tamlen glanced at her quickly out of the corner of his eye, faltered, then composed himself and turned back. Helene could practically see him swell with some unknown emotion, perhaps pride. No doubt testosterone and adrenaline had kicked in, and he thought to show off. "You're just in time, I found these <em>humans<em> lurking in the bushes. Bandits, no doubt," He pulled the arrow and bowstring back, ready to fire.  
>The humans recoiled, horror plain on their rugged faces. "We aren't bandits, I swear!" One said, cowering. "Please don't hurt us," They seemed to stumble back in unison, one trembling so much so that Helene believed he was about to wet his breeches.<br>Tamlen began to advance on them, forcing them back along the trodden route, and Helene, with a heavy heart, followed him. She maintained a poker face, but her eyes were soft and yielding.  
>"You <em>shemlen<em> are pathetic." Tamlen spat. "It's hard to believe you ever drove us from our homeland."  
>"W-W-We've never done nothing to you Dalish!" The dark-haired male at the back objected, a quiver in his voice. "We didn't even know this forest was yours!"<br>_It isn't… _Helene thought almost sadly, just as Tamlen let out a sound that was supposed to be a laugh. It didn't sound friendly. "This forest isn't 'ours', you fool. You stumbled too close to our camp. You _shems _are like vermin, we can't trust you not to make mischief." He shifted position, glanced quickly over his shoulder at Helene. His eyes lightened but their intensity remained. He was still Tamlen, still her childhood friend, no longer a distant hunter that was unreachable. He was not deaf to reason. "What do you say, _lethallan_? What should we do with them?"  
>Helene's dark eyes were imploring. "Let them go, Tamlen." She said. "You judge humans too harshly,"<br>"Wh-?" His brows had furrowed, but now rose in surprise. "_Lethallan_?"  
>Helene's face was steely with moral righteousness, and she lowered her bow to prove a point. "These humans are not our enemies," She looked to them, then, and raised her chin in a sharp gesture. A 'speak now' prompt. "What is your business here?"<br>The men relaxed somewhat, but not fully. "L-Look, we didn't come here to be trouble, we just found a cave." The redhead gibbered, making surrendering gestures with his hands, palms out.  
>The older, stockier one to his left agreed, nodding vigorously. "– Yes, a cave, with ruins like I've never seen! We thought there might be, uh…" He trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable.<br>"Treasure?" Tamlen prompted. "So you're more akin to thieves than actual bandits," He still had not lowered his bow.  
>Helene narrowed her eyes somewhat, but not cruelly. "We know this forest…" she said in what she hoped was certainty, but it came out as though she doubted that that were really true. "There are no caves… no ruins…" <em>Are they lying?<br>_"But—ahh, I have proof!" The man opposite her proclaimed. "Here, we found this just inside the entrance," He pulled an object – too big to be a pebble, too small to be a tablet – out of his pocket. Instead of handing it to Helene, he handed it to Tamlen, who tetchily sheathed his arrow and let his bow fall to his side, clutching onto it so tightly with one hand that his knuckles turned white. The human knew whom he was struggling to convince, at least.  
>Tamlen frowned, his tattoos seeming to curve with the lines of his cheek, as he examined it. "This stone has carvings…" He commented, before blinking fervently. "Is this- elvish? <em>Written<em> elvish?"  
>"There's- There's more in the ruins. We didn't get very far in, though…"<br>Helene glanced at the strange artefact curiously. "How do you know that that's elvish, Tamlen?" She asked. Their language was broken, and no longer fluent. A few salvaged words or phrases here and there, but always spoken, never written. It was just another thing lost to them now, like Arlathan.  
>"I'm not sure… but it has to be," Tamlen said, fingering the grooves of the glyphs and accented letters. "It looks similar to passages in Merrill's and the Keeper's books…" He glanced up then, as if suddenly registering something the trio had said. "Wait. Why could you go no further in?"<br>The men's hands shook at their sides, balled up into fists. One looked away, one looked at the ground, and the other- he faced Tamlen squarely, pale. "There was a demon! It was huge, with black eyes! Thank the Maker we were able to outrun it."  
>Tamlen sniffed in dismissal, and chuckled. "A demon. Where is this cave?" His tone was flat, incredulous.<br>"Just off to the west, I think. There's a cave in the rockface and a huge hole just inside."  
>Helene's dark eyebrows rose. <em>A 'huge' hole? How did we not see this before? Fenarel and the others did not mention anything from their previous scouts…<br>_Tamlen bit the inside of his lip in wonder, tossing the artefact into the air before catching it distractedly with one hand. "Well, do you trust them?" He asked. "Should we let them go?"  
>Helene looked to the humans, brushed some stray strands of pale-blonde hair out of her eyes, and nodded once. "You've frightened them enough. They won't bother us now," She said surely, slinging her bow onto her back, affectively disarming herself.<br>Tamlen seemed to sag with the weight of—disappointment, Helene suspected, but nevertheless he gestured with his head towards the path. "Run along then, _shems_, and don't come back until we Dalish have moved on."  
>To say they left quickly would have been an understatement. "Of course! Thank you! Thank you!" They gasped as they sprinted off, occasionally glancing back to check the two elves were not primed to shoot. They vanished quickly within the trees, which grew close together here.<br>Tamlen, too, sheathed his bow but kept his grip on the artefact. He watched his prey go almost sadly.  
>"Well, shall we see if there's any truth to this story?" He asked Helene finally, who was now busy plucking an elfroot from the ground. She glanced back at him.<br>He shrugged. "These carvings make me curious,"  
>Helene extended a prompting hand, and Tamlen understood that she wanted her pack back. He shrugged it off of his shoulder and handed it to her, whereby she proceeded to store the elfroot away ready to grind it into a poultice later. At first she showed no signs of acknowledging him, but then after a moment she replied: "What about Merrill?"<br>"What about her?"  
>She flashed him a look. "Would she not want to see this? And shouldn't we inform the Keeper?"<br>Tamlen smiled infectiously, tightening the buckles on his greaves. "We can… check it out first." He spoke tentatively. "Then if we find anything, we can let the Keeper know. We can always bring Merrill back later,"  
>Helene shook her head and straightened, ducking beneath the low branches of a nearby oak and pressing on ahead, as though returning to camp. "I would rather have Merrill's magic with us, if there really is a 'demon',"<br>She didn't catch the look Tamlen gave her then, an almost sympathetic, exasperated look. "You don't really believe those _shems_,do you?"  
>"They were running, Tamlen. Running <em>into <em>you, not away from you. Running _from _something,"  
>"Right, well then, if there <em>is <em>a demon then we kill it, and we save the clan. Imagine the look on Fenarel's face!" He exclaimed eagerly, moving to catch her arm. "Please, _lethallan_? Let's have a little bit of an adventure,"  
>Helene stopped, feeling a turning in the pit of her stomach. This went against all her better judgement. Tamlen had a terrible habit of getting them both into situations; he had done so ever since they were children. Once, when they could not have been more than six or seven, he'd almost run Merrill directly into the path of a Templar, forcing the camp to move on.<br>She didn't agree with this, even if a part of her was desperately curious. Cautiousness meant survival, and that instinct always quashed her wonder. But… if she didn't go with him, she knew he'd go alone, and she couldn't chance that.  
>"Then…. let us be off," She said heavily.<br>Tamlen grinned and set off ahead of her, not looking back to check she was following. He knew she would. Helene shook her head once more with disappointment, and took off after him. She could not explain the dread that coursed through her, could not describe why gravity had seemed to put more pressure on her body.  
>They walked in silence for a long time, clambering down a steep hill expertly, navigating the off-path trek to the west. Sunlight spotted the vast, green woodland around them, trickling through breaks in the canopy above. Some of these trees were no doubt millennia old, towering up into the heavens, some with such a wide girth that it would take at least five elves, linking hands, to wrap around them. Somewhere a cricket chirped, elsewhere an adder hissed in the nettles.<br>They eventually encountered a winding route, studded with slanted columns and arches that spiralled around a pitfall, one that must have been near thirty feet deep. Halfway down the fissure, water trickled into a pool at the base, a minute waterfall that spurted and bubbled. In the distance, below the line of the horizon, a giant willow partially shrouded a cliff-face. Helene did not recall this area from any time before. She'd heard stories of becoming addled in the woods, of forest spirits fooling mortals into walking in circles, or forcing them to outright miss areas that the forest did not want to reveal, but she had never heard of such trickery being extended to the elven.  
>The path was uneven, made up of natural 'steps' of earthen mounds. Awkward to navigate, and dangerous if you lost your footing. Clambering down from one mound to another, Helene moved ahead of Tamlen. She was defter than he was, and she wanted to judge the terrain.<br>Tamlen stepped back, watching her go. As she moved lithely, she tipped her head in the direction of the path they'd come, surveying the beauty of the forest, her high ponytail bobbing as she moved. For one moment she dispelled her sense of apprehension, and her face softened at the scenic view. For one moment, her pride at being Dalish knew no bounds. Places such as these were where they belonged, allied with nature.  
>Her alabaster skin flushed with colour, pronouncing her high, sweeping cheekbones. Her jet-dark eyes sparkled with an inner light that blackness should not possess, warm despite their colour. Eyes that you could fall in, be swallowed in. Her platinum blonde hair caught the sunlight, and shone – one moment silver, the next moment gold. In that instant, she had never looked more beautiful to Tamlen, and he felt his swollen heart throb in his chest. "Helene…"<br>She turned. "Yes?"  
>Tamlen hesitated, toed the ground he stood on, before he judged the drop down to the next mound. He slipped down next to her, careful. Much as he wanted to admit he'd been watching her, wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, he couldn't. Now was not the time for such fanciful talk. Instead, he asked the question that had been bothering him since they'd let the three <em>shemlen <em>escape. "I… didn't take you for a human-sympathiser,"  
>He half-expected her to tense up defensively, but he should have known she was not the type. Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Why not?"<br>"They're not of the People," He said dismissively, unable to look her in the eye. Her mercy was humbling, and he didn't feel worthy.  
>Helene couldn't shrug if she tried. She had an upright, dignified posture and an air of such serenity that when she made the gesture with her shoulders it managed to be graceful. "They're not our enemies,"<br>Tamlen pressed a palm to the rising cliff-face to their right, stopping himself from looking down into the pit to their left. "But they're not our friends either,"  
>"Tamlen, the Keeper understands," Helene pressed, letting out a breath that was nearly, <em>nearly<em> a sigh.  
>"The Keeper wouldn't understand if they brought harm to our clan,"<br>At this Helene simply turned, no longer wanting to argue, and carried on descending. Eventually, after a minute or so of the two of them continuing onwards and downwards, she said, changing the conversation: "We will be moving on soon,"  
>"And what a trek that will be…" Tamlen groaned, picking up a stick and thwacking it against the rock-face. "Are you— looking forward to the Free Marches? To Sundermount?"<br>Helene looked around as if to find her answer amongst their surroundings, then glanced up at the sky as though it were not the same sky she would see from Sundermount. "I'll… miss Ferelden," she admitted.  
>Tamlen nodded. "I as well. But the Keeper seems sure we'll be settled there for a few years, at least. The graves of our ancestors are there. It will be good to pay respect,"<br>"Yes," Helene said, only half-listening. Something had drawn her attention. A wolf howled, not so far away. It was clear Tamlen did not hear it, or if he did, he didn't acknowledge it.  
>Helene tensed, hand itching to clasp her bow.<br>"_Lethallan_… everything's fine. You'll see,"  
>They reached the bottom of the path, dead leaves rustling in the breeze that struck as if from nowhere. Helene bristled. <em>Breath of the creators… <em>she thought internally, for there should be no wind in this depression. It was then that the wolves appeared, leaping from the ferns and clumps of nettles and deathroot. Two of them, and Helene could make out two or three more behind them. Their eyes were wild, yellow teeth bared, salivating as they growled at the two elves.  
>Helene withdrew her bow, took a few tentative steps back and tensed, assessing the path her first shot should take. "You spoke too soon, friend," She warned, before the first wolf pounced.<p> 


	4. Chapter Three: Interrupted Reflections

**CHAPTER THREE:** INTERRUPTED REFLECTIONS

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><p><em>"<em>Aneth ara_. Come. Peer into the looking glass._  
><em>One's face is the true mirror; one's face confesses the reflections of the heart. Our gateway, shrouded by <em>  
><em>the Creators, four Lights to guide the way, four Guardians to watch and wake from <em>Uthenera_._  
><em>You never truly die here, <em>falon_."_

* * *

><p><span>Helene<span>

Years of honing their skills and experience gained through hunting saved their skin. The threat was dispatched quickly with a volley of well-aimed arrows, mostly fired into the skulls of the rabid wolves. They all fell, one after the other.  
>"Blight take them!" Tamlen cursed, attempting to inch past the tangled heap of feral corpses.<br>"I think it already has…" Helene commented, crouching down beside the nearest kill, noting the prominent amount of shedding of both fur and skin on their legs. This one had the beginnings of spines threatening to puncture outward from its back. Again, the nauseous feeling in her stomach.  
>"These wolves were tainted." She said surely, drawing back quick, as though the taint might be passed through proximity.<br>Tamlen shifted uncomfortably, scratched the back of his neck and tried to act unassuming. "Well… they can't hurt us now. Let's move on, shall we?" He dismissed. He didn't wait for her answer nor her approval, instead he turned and walked, setting a pace. There was no question; it was a silent command. His curiosity had set him in motion, and he felt pulled to this mysterious cave as if by an invisible thread. Nothing would stop Tamlen when his mind was set on it. He took the path to the right, which wound around the rocky crag they had spotted from the top of the hill.  
>Helene lingered, face lined with worry. "Darkspawn…" She muttered, voice barely above a whisper. Images of the frightening creatures flashed through her mind. She had never seen one, not up close, but she knew enough. They were said to have once been Tevinter mages that were turned into undead monsters. Now? Now there were millions of them in the Deep Roads beneath their feet, miles and miles below the surface of Thedas, waging a never-ending war with the dwarven folk. They had almost drove the dwarves to extinction, had claimed practically all of their lands for themselves. They were unstoppable– even if they surfaced and began a Blight, and even if they were defeated, they would never be truly <em>gone<em>.  
>"<em>Lethallan<em>?"  
>Helene's concern burst forth from her in one fell breath. "Tamlen… I feel as though we're walking into a trap,"<br>He'd turned to look at her, and now folded his arms, incredulous. "Don't be foolish. Even if we are, it's not as though we're walking in with our eyes shut, right?"  
>"How can you–!" Helene began, before regaining her composure and taking a deep breath. "This is not <em>safe<em>,"  
>"I never thought it would be," Tamlen kept walking, and Helene was forced to dash to his side in order to catch up.<br>"There's something thrilling about danger," he said.  
>At this point, she gave up. Or, rather: submitted to his wishes, humoured him. There was no point arguing with him, not when he was like this. He was so stubborn, he always had been.<br>Silently, the pair seemed to agree to disagree and remained quiet for the rest of the trek. They navigated through the bracken and trees, hopped over trenches and stooped under low-hanging branches, all the while following the curve of the miniature mountain that seemed to have been erected overnight not a twenty-minute walk from their camp.  
>Finally, after another downhill turn, the forest fell away into an open area, which directly faced a gaping hole in the base of the precipice.<br>Tamlen's eyes widened. "This must be the cave. I don't recall seeing this before, do you?" He showed no remorse for previously doubting the humans, and this disagreed with Helene. She was short with him when she replied. "No, and that worries me. We should be wary." Again, she tried to appeal to him. "Look, I think it best to inform the Keeper. We should _not_ be wandering off alone, Tamlen,"  
>He rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a prude, Helene. Let's have some adventure! With luck, we'll find something that will make us clan heroes,"<br>"Creators…." Helene muttered under her breath. That was it. That had been her last attempt at convincing him, at pulling him by the arm like a lost child and directing him back to their clansmen. They were in this together now, for better or for worse.  
>She tightened her already-taut ponytail, wanting to keep her hands busy while she tried to gather her thoughts. She didn't condone this. She didn't <em>want <em>to do this. But… she did want to get it over with, and she wanted, too, to satiate that annoying curiosity of hers that she kept well buried beneath instinct.  
>She looked on into what seemed to be never-ending blackness, and noted that, again, the cave's path seemed to take a downward plunge. <em>We could be walking into a thaig… walking right into darkspawn…<br>_Maybe that was what Tamlen wanted: a thaig, full of abandoned goods and treasure. Things he didn't want the humans to have looted, but wanted to take on behalf of the clan. She glanced heavenward, taking one last look at the sky. "Then… maintain your guard. We must stick together," She said with dread.  
>"I wouldn't leave your side," Tamlen said with unexpected tenderness, before taking her by the wrist and plunging on ahead into the darkness.<p>

The crumbling, rocky path bore down into an ancient stone corridor, entrance marked, either side, by pillars that shouldered the mountain above. These were carved finely, chipped and split in places with age, but somehow still fit for purpose. The tunnel ahead– or hallway, as it now seemed – fooled with Helene's mind. One moment they'd been in a cave, yet now it seemed they'd unlocked a door and stepped into a building. Everything was stone, of course. Some areas looked, from their position at the mouth of the cavern, carved into the wall itself. Others had been built, and demonstrated fine masonry to boot. The forest had attempted to reclaim this territory, bracken and ivy creeping out of the cracks in the rock. The whole scene was… threatening. Ominous. They did not belong here anymore; this was dead ground. Everything was eerily still and quiet, the type that begged Helene into calling 'Hello?'. She did not.  
>Tamlen, entranced, stepped forward, not watching his step but somehow managing to find his footing across the uneven floor. "So… the <em>shemlen were <em>telling the truth," he breathed, looking around with wide eyes. "But… these ruins look more human than elven,"  
>The architecture was certainly Ferelden in appearance, but its origin was otherwise ambiguous. Human or elven? It certainly wasn't dwarven, that much was for certain, at least.<br>Helene didn't answer, but cringed at the volume of his voice. She wanted to make gestures for him to quieten, but it was already too late. His voice echoed around and below them, growing distant, marching towards whatever resided within this hole in the mountain. _The demon? _Helene wondered.  
>She followed him in, but became preoccupied with surveying the foreboding amount of cocoons that clung to the ceiling like stalactites. A dagger was sticking out of one, and she looked away before she could make out the gnarled bones that clung to it even in death.<br>"Tamlen… This was not wise…" She said finally, gripping onto the belted strap of her pack, steeling herself for a fright she hoped might never come.  
>"Let's explore deeper," Tamlen pressed on, in a way that suggested that, no, he didn't ignore her, he didn't even <em>hear <em>her. He was acting strangely, distant, as though his ears were full of the whispers of the dark, beckoning him. "The _shems _must have made it in further than this…"  
>Helene looked back at daylight for the last time. It already seemed so distant from their position, framed by jagged, dark rock. She then looked to a conveniently placed torch set in a bracket on the wall, before striking together some flint and a custom-forged metal striker from her pack. The sparks drifted to the torch's end, which then smouldered before igniting, producing a bright, sudden light. She carefully wrapped her hand around the torch and withdrew it, handing it to Tamlen, who accepted it without truly seeing it.<br>Up ahead, Helene noted there must have been a disturbance in the earth, for the path broke not a few feet ahead of them, as though a quake had rode one plate of flooring above the other. The corridor, too, angled downwards at such a slope that the ceiling was low here. The two of them moved forward, dropped down into a crouch and slipped from the corridor into the room below.  
>A crunching, snapping sound beneath Helene's feet made her glance down quickly. When she withdrew her foot, her eyes widened at the sight of a bone- a femur, unmistakeably. It was so old that it crumbled into dust in the aftermath of the breakage.<br>A hissing sound over their heads made Tamlen and Helene instinctively duck.  
>"Creators, what–!" Tamlen began, before Helene snapped: "Spiders!"<br>They descended from the ceiling, then, on their woven trapezes, venom pooling on the floor beneath their extended fangs. They were bloated from the poison they were ready to administer, spindly legs trembling. The cave spiders were half their size, but three times their width. They were covered in fine hairs that stood up at the sight of the two elves, illuminated by breaks in the ceiling that somehow let in the daylight, revealing breaks in the mountain above. Tamlen almost dropped their torch outright.  
>Ancient and recent bones littered the room; Helene thought she caught sight of a hand wrapped around a poultice that the poor soul had never had a chance to use. She, too, glimpsed a short-sword that glittered in the light from the sunburst through the ceiling. It was resting by a skeletal corpse, and she made a lunge for it. The room was too small to warrant a blow from a long-range weapon. Her skills were no good here, the spiders were too close, and melee was what was demanded of her. She was no swordsman, but these were not foes that would judge her for her swordplay. These were bugs that needed to be crushed.<br>Tamlen rammed the torch into a crack in the floor, switched his hold on his bow, and swatted at the nearest spider, bringing the sylvanwood weapon down as hard as he could on the creature's head, sidestepping then ducking under its massive legs. Helene, however, didn't skirt them. The second spider was her target, and she slashed off the legs that moved to sweep her own from under her. She brought the sword down, then, slicing it right through its abdomen.  
>"Tamlen!" She cried, throwing the sword through the air towards him. He caught it, albeit fumblingly and ran his foe through before it could sink its fangs into his unguarded leg.<br>The spiders fell to the floor almost simultaneously, making the ground heave with the weight of their bodies. Helene, panting, attempted to grab Tamlen's arm. "We have to go. Now."  
>"No," he shrugged off her grip. "That was just the wildlife. Come on, now, we can handle anything." He said, retrieving the torch.<br>"I would feel so much better if we talked to the Keeper first–"  
>"The Keeper forbids everything, and you know it. She keeps Merrill wrapped in blankets, and she's the First! I just want to live a little, <em>lethallan<em>," He charged on as Helene made an objecting sound, throwing open the door up ahead of them without any caution. Helene darted after him, trying to suspend her concern but finding it impossible. The corridor split off in two directions, left and right, and the two of them made quick progress down the first that caught their fancy. Here the walls had partially caved in, and dirt and roots had slid out through the breaks in the wall, making it more of an obstacle course than a path. When they rounded the corner, they saw the other path would have led them the same way, and suspended their desire to check that route too. Then: another door. This time it was Helene that opened it up. Except, all she had to do was lay her hand on its surface before it shrank away from her and fell to the ground, hinges rusted and broken with age.  
>The spiders on the other side of the room, mounted on top of centuries-old sarcophagi, skittered in the darkness, alerted to their arrival. They dispatched of these as quickly as the last lot.<br>Tamlen, pulled to the numerous stone coffins that led within, brushed the dust and cobwebs from them in an attempt to read the names, but the words were indistinguishable. He began pushing at the surface of one, as if to loot it, and Helene pulled him back as forcefully as she could. "Tamlen!"  
>"What?"<br>"Stop that! I thought you said you wanted to explore- not disrespect the dead,"  
>"Ah… right… yes, forgive me,"<br>The next door led out into a corridor that, as soon Helene had stepped onto the first flagstone, made her eyes widen and duck before she had consciously thought to do so. "Tamlen, it's a trap!"  
>He didn't even need to question her. He pressed his back firmly to the wall, still in the room behind, and tucked his head out of the way when the fireball seared through the air in their direction. Helene only straightened when she believed it to be all-clear, before gesturing behind herself for him to follow. They were both trembling, but Tamlen more so with excitement.<br>This route, at least, was clear from here on out. Helene composed herself and marched on, leading the way now so as to scout for traps. She had thought that the area would be too old to harbour such working mechanisms, but she had misjudged the ancients' skills. As it happened, the whole corridor seemed to be lined with firetraps that, now that she was looking for them, she could pick out with ease. A raised stone here, a barely-visible tripwire there.  
>The corridor then opened out into a grand hall with a ceiling that towered high above. Helene suddenly felt miniscule, and glanced up at the pillars carved into the figures of men. The two of them stopped for a moment, without words. It was cold here. The smell was that of the forest, earthy and pungent. There was no noise, only the sound of Helene's pulsing blood roaring in her ears.<br>_Merrill would love it here… _Helene thought, touching the shin of a nearby pillar-statue. _So many questions… so little answers…  
><em>It was only when she looked up that she noticed Tamlen was pursuing on ahead without her. She managed to catch up to him, and the two continued on down the next corridor. At a T-junction, they slowed. Corpses littered the floor: skeletons that had long since decayed, but not caked with dust as the other bodies had been. Helene felt unnerved, but could not quite pinpoint why. Then, Tamlen spotted the statue. It was stone, with bronze wings that seemed to be a combination of a moth's, bat's and eagle's. "I… can't believe this." Tamlen breathed. "You recognise this statue, don't you?"  
>Helene's hand came up to her chest, pressing to it as if to keep the breath within her. She was panting something dreadful, and not exactly from exhaustion. "It's… badly worn but it looks vaguely familiar…" She could see a duplicate statue now, illustrated, in one of Merrill's tomes. Lost lore of the <em>Elvhenan<em>, history to be reclaimed.  
>"Back when our people lived in Arlathan, statues like these honoured the Creators. When the <em>shems <em>enslaved us, much of that lore was lost," Tamlen paused, eyeing up the dangerous-looking spear the idol was holding in one hand. "These ruins look like human architecture…. but with a statue of our people? Can these ruins date back to the time of Arlathan?"  
>"Perhaps." Helene glanced around them. "So much of our past is lost to us, that anything may be possible…"<br>"I'd never have guessed ancient elves might have lived here! With humans!"  
>"Yes, but, Tamlen… this is not a good time," she pointed out.<br>"I know, I know. Just something to think about. Let's… Let's move on,"  
>The torches here were lit, and again Helene felt the odd stirring feeling in the pits of her stomach. The fear. She tried to reason that the trap they had tripped earlier had set some ancient mechanic into life, lighting the lanterns in the area as a result, but she wasn't sure that the technology would have been in place all those years ago. Something about this place was… magical. It made the hairs on her arms and neck stand on end, her skin prickle and whispers start in her mind. As though the Veil was torn, and they were walking into the abyss.<br>This time she was careless, and when they walked they tripped another trap. It unleashed a gaseous substance, and Helene's blood burned in her veins, her lungs quivering weakly as they battled the poison in the air. She coughed, covered her mouth with the cloth that she'd wrapped around the bread in her pack, and dashed through the cloud of gas. But she couldn't run through it, for the door that met her on the other side of the mist was locked. She threw her whole weight against it, but it was unyielding.  
>That... was when the sound came. The rattling, the footsteps, the moans.<br>Helene turned, eyes wide, to see Tamlen through a green haze turn and instinctively hit whatever was coming towards him. The skeletons they had passed in the tunnels—on their feet. Reanimated.  
>Helene wanted to scream but found herself incapable of doing so, fearful of sucking in more of the dangerous toxin in the air. Instead she pulled the cloth from her mouth, coughed violently and drew her bow. <em>Creators, what is going on here...! <em>Panic made her inaccurate, but fast, and though she missed a few shots she managed to wedge arrows in the corpses' ribcages and eye-sockets. It didn't slow them down any, as though they were impervious to such attacks. The gaseous air was making her delirious, and she could feel her heart pumping at a slower rate, her body numbing.  
>"<em>Lethallan<em>! Helene!" Tamlen cried, managing to knock the head from one skeleton, which proceeded to fall to the floor in a clump, one hand reaching for the skull that had rolled away from it. Tamlen slammed his foot down on it desperately, and the undead crumbled to ashes. So… they weren't invincible after all.  
>Filled with renewed vigour, Helene was relieved to note, too, that the gas was dissipating. Her heart rate picked up, and she charged towards her companion, swinging her bow out to greet the incoming skeletons. She threw herself at them, slamming her body and bow into them so hard that they shattered before they could raise their own weapons. Half-expecting the corpses to rise again, the duo stood back to back, wheezing for breath, eyes darting around in search of a new threat. When none came, Tamlen buckled, hands on his knees. "This place—it's—it's haunted!" He cried, gasping.<br>"_Now_ do you wish that we had talked to the Keeper first?"  
>"Truthfully? Yes. But it's too late to go back now."<br>"It's never too late, Tamlen,"  
>"This is the last room, I promise. Then we'll go back,"<br>Helene sagged. "Are you a fool? After what we've just been through? Spiders, traps and now the undead! Do you have a death wish?"  
>He didn't answer her, instead tried the door.<br>"It's locked–" Helene began, nursing her throbbing temple, when the door unexpectedly opened up for Tamlen. She blinked fervently, firstly: disbelieving, then secondly: enraged, before thirdly: frightened._ ... Magic is at work here...  
><em>Tamlen ignored her, for he'd already laid eyes on the creature that resided in the room. The 'demon' with black eyes…? Whatever it was now, it had once been a bear. It appeared from behind a large, framed mirror that occupied the back of the room. Spines had burst entirely out of its back, all over its body, and around the collar of its neck; these painful incisions oozed with blood, poison and pus. Before Tamlen had time to cry out it had charged over at full-force and tackled him to the ground, ready to maul him to death.  
>"You won't have him!" Helene cried, firing an arrow into its skull. The great beast let out a roar and reeled backwards, shaking its head, but the arrow held fast, bearing into its brain.<br>Tamlen crawled out from underneath it, almost kicking one of its giant paws in his desperation to get free, before grabbing the bow he'd lost when the tainted creature had pounced. Helene sent a rain of arrows down on the creature, whilst Tamlen fired desperately to keep it from charging again. Their flaming torch rolled around on the floor, discarded where Tamlen had fell, and the creature recoiled away from it, pressing its weight from foot to foot.  
>It swiped at Helene, narrowly missing her while managing to dig one claw into her shoulder. The cut was deep and Helene screamed with the agony, blood rushing from the wound and seeping through her padded shoulder armour. The pain that coursed through her arm forced her into dropping her stance, and her bow.<br>Tamlen took up the slack, firing shot after shot into the beast until it howled and fell to its side, dead.  
>"Helene!" he gasped, running to her. She was clutching her arm, her lips turning blue with the shock of the deep wound. "I'm fine…" she breathed.<br>"What… was that thing?"  
>"I wish I knew… but I suspect it was a bear. A Blighted one."<br>"But there isn't a Blight!" Tamlen cried. His eyes searched hers for a long moment, before he hung his head and sighed. This room was obviously a dead end, and he wanted to stay true to his words. The threat was gone, and the mirror…  
>... <em>That<em> drew him then suddenly like a moth to a flame. All worries forgotten, he focused on it entirely.  
>"Creators…. It's… beautiful, isn't it?" he breathed. The mirror was mounted on a platform, to be reached by a set of steps. It was shouldered by what appeared to be human figures, Tevinter magisters, but that seemed only to be a frame that had been added afterward. Tamlen made to step onto the bottom stair. "… I wonder what the writing says. Do you think the Keeper could translate it? Or Merrill?"<br>Helene, gasping from where she sat nursing her wound on the floor, looked up at him bitterly. She refused to mount the steps, instead then eyeing up the slain bereskarn."Stand back, Tamlen, we can't be sure it's safe,"  
>He looked at her, narrowed his eyes a little and gestured to the mirror. "It's been sat here for who knows how many centuries—what could be so dangerous? Don't worry, I won't break it." He glanced back to the ancient object with tender eyes full of awe. "I wonder what this writing is for? Maybe this isn't—" he stopped, glimpsing a ripple across the surface of the glass. "Hey, did you see that? I think something moved inside the mirror…"<br>"Get away from it, Tamlen…."  
>"Hold on! I just want to know what it is. Don't you see it?" He said petulantly. Then he gasped. "There it is again! Can you feel that? I think it knows we're here. I just need to take a closer look…" He clambered up the steps eagerly, drawing closer. Helene remained steadfast, not desiring to follow after him. She'd had enough. Enough of this place, enough of his headstrong attitude. She wanted <em>out.<br>_Tamlen placed his hand to the mirror and started at the feel of the surface. It wasn't as it should have been, but like water. More like a portal than a looking-glass. "It's… showing me places. I can see… some kind of city… underground?"  
>When Helene eventually did look up at it, she found her gaze transfixed. But... it wasn't like a mirror. It was like frozen liquid-silver, or smoky quartz. It wasn't fit for purpose.<em> Why can't we see our reflections? <em>She wondered, frantically, trying to tear her eyes away. Tamlen stared deeper into the mirror, touching his fingertips to it. The mirror's surface rippled, gave under his touch. "And… there's a great blackness…" He narrated, before recoiling. His face was stricken, paling. He attempted to retreat from the mirror, breath suddenly coming in short whooping gasps. "It… It saw me!"  
>"What- Tamlen?" Helene began, before he cut her off with a cry, eyes wide but inexplicably drawn to the mirror. His gaze was fixed, but this didn't seem at all willing. "Help! I – I can't look away!" He screamed.<br>"Tamlen?" Helene had time to call, reaching for him, desperately trying to pry him back to safety.  
>There was a pulse through the air as Tamlen's fingers slipped into what was steadily becoming a portal, and the mirror made a sound as though it's watery surface had frozen, then shattered.<br>Then… the explosion. It knocked Helene clean off of her feet, and it engulfed the room in bright indigo flashes before plunging their world into darkness.


	5. Chapter Four: Stirring

** CHAPTER FOUR:** STIRRING

* * *

><p><em>" Do not look back at what might have been. Survive, do not regret.<em>  
><em>You will always have a home here, and here you always will remain. " <em>

* * *

><p><span>Helene<span>

"–_hear me?_"  
>Things came back to Helene steadily.<br>Her body ached all over, and she was writhing in agony. Something was inside of her, some poison, some darkness, and it was paining her to breathe, hurting her to think. Everything was nothing… her mind was void and empty, yet at the same time filled with screaming.  
>"<em>Can you hear me?" <em>An unfamiliar voice said again.  
>Helene's eyes drifted open. She thought she had been standing, but her gaze pointed upwards at the sky. At daylight.<br>_That's odd… _She thought, without wondering why.  
>She was lead on the ground, not in charge of her own body. She felt distant, as though having an out-of-body-experience, yet at the same time trapped inside of herself. She could hear a thunder of footsteps—or was it her heartbeat? – followed by a throaty roar that made her body jump with fear, the jump of a dreamer awakening after falling from a cliff in the Fade. A dragon's roar. It was all in her head, she <em>knew<em> this without knowing why. No…. not in her head. It was inside of her, in her body. Carried within her, a mantra. A distant song, a command that wasn't spoken but willed, and a constant drumming. It was clear and real, whilst the outside noises were muffled.  
>Her vision drifted in and out of focus, blurred– there was someone directly above her, speaking to her but she couldn't make him out. Then… she could. A bearded human, his face grave with sympathy.<br>Her body was convulsing, twitching, and she heard herself making noises that she had not willed to pass her lips. She was gurgling, moaning, crying in agony. She thought she might have heard herself say, "Taml-en– find… the mirror…. find him…" but the voice didn't sound like hers. It was hoarse, hysterical.  
>"I am- very sorry," The man said, reaching down as though to wrap a hand around her neck, to pluck her from the ground, or to hold her tenderly. A companion in death.<br>Yes, she had to have been dying... Her body was falling away from her, numb, her own thoughts echoing before growing slowly mute in her head. _Tamlen… are you… dying too? _She wondered, black dots swimming in her vision.  
>Her body gave one last heave with pain before she passed out.<p>

* * *

><p>The Camp<p>

Marethari looked down at the still, comatose form of Mahariel, her hands, haloed with a faint blue light, extended as she channelled the healing spell into the young elf's body. Helene was still, and had been since she'd been returned, her pale skin slightly tinged with a blue hue, and not just from the light of the Keeper's casting.  
>Merrill was sat in the corner of the tent, her large, green eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill. She'd loosened her scarf, and now held it to her cheek ready to catch any droplets of wetness that fell.<br>The human that had found and returned Helene was stood politely to the side, remaining quiet so as not to interrupt the Keeper, his tanned face solemn. When Marethari took a break, however, he spoke up, raising his dark head. "I had sent word to King Cailan a few weeks ago about the growing disturbances. He has since returned my correspondence, and it seems a darkspawn horde is forming in the south, in the Wilds."  
>"As I suspected," Marethari said, shortly, retrieving a potion from a basket-full on the floor.<br>Duncan was tall, and had to bow his head in the elven-sized tent in order to fit. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, face furrowed with both age and wisdom. He had kind eyes, but a firm disposition. Dressed from head to toe in armour, dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck and a sword sheathed at his side, he exuded a diplomatic aura.  
>He glanced quickly at Merrill, before he looked back to the Keeper in silent question. Before he could speak, Marethari made a sweeping gesture with her hand. "She is permitted to stay. She is my First, I would have her hear this,"<br>"As you wish…" He nodded. "I– fear that there is to be a battle at Ostagar to defeat the threat. We believe the darkspawn are focusing there, but there are also many surfacing across Ferelden, in packs."  
>"Yes. News has reached us about the bands to the north,"<br>"Indeed," Duncan bowed.  
>"Um, Keeper? We will be moving on soon, yes? Are we escaping the fighting?" Merrill asked, her lilt voice flighty and high. She rubbed her upper arm uncomfortably, her tattooed face creasing with anxiety.<br>"We intend to travel to Sundermount, in the Free Marches." The Keeper said, more so to Duncan than to Merrill. "It will be a long, arduous trip. We will need to scale the mountains, and pass through Orlesian territory. We need our clan whole; I would rather not leave my two hunters behind,"  
>"You may have to leave one," Duncan said gravely, his eyes narrowing.<br>Merrill bit the inside of her lip hard enough to draw blood. The coppery-liquid filled her mouth, tinny and sickening. Magic sizzled in her fingertips, then died with her grasped-at composure.  
>The Keeper turned her attention back to Helene. "At least we have Mahariel back. I thank you for returning her, Duncan,"<br>"You are welcome," He said, before excusing himself and ducking out of the tent.  
>A moment of unbearable silence passed as Marethari rubbed a salve into Helene's wounded shoulder. Merrill shook her head softly to herself, eventually pulling another book from the pile beside her and opening it up. "Keeper, another cast?"<br>Marethari was solemn. "Yes, the old magic, Merrill. Mahariel will not be lost to us."  
>Merrill passed her the book she had selected, her hand shaking until Marethari took hold of it. Merrill winced, feeling as though she were about to be reprimanded for her weakness. When she looked up at her Keeper, however, she relaxed at the sight of her elder's face. Marethari seemed to have aged with concern and sorrow, and Merrill found her own eyes filling once more. "She <em>will<em> pull through, won't she?"  
>"Only time will tell," Marethari said carefully, accepting the tome. "But go and inform Ashalle. She will want to know the state she is in,"<p>

* * *

><p><span>Helene<span>

When Helene eventually awoke, she was alone. She was lying stiffly on the floor, wearing nothing more than an unflattering, knee-length slip where she rested atop a sleeping mat made of soft wolf-hide. The thick, brown canvas of the tent prevented most of the bright sunlight from pouring in, but she could tell by the sight of the round globule partially spotlighting the canvas that it must have been around early morning.  
>When she glanced around, she saw that she was in her own tent that she shared with Ashalle back at camp. Her longbow and pack had been retrieved, and they led innocently against the post in the centre of the tent.<br>For a moment she let her eyelids drift to a close once more, trying to convince herself that all that had happened had been a terrible dream. That any moment, Tamlen would pull up the flap of her tent and peek in and grin at her, like he did every day. She waited. And waited. Nothing.  
>Stirring, she sat up, a hand coming up to her head. At some point her hair had come free from her band, and hung loosely to her shoulders. She located some twine to tie it up with, and did so before stripping out of her slip and pulling on a skirt and cropped shirt that had been folded beside her futon. Buckling into the clan armour that all Dalish hunters were required to wear – in her case, an armoured skirt over-layer and breastplate – she found a bowl of fresh water atop a table that had been set up on the other side of the tent and splashed it on her face.<br>When she walked, she found she was light-headed and woozy from lack of sustenance, and no doubt from concussion. She emerged from her tent, and quickly shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight that attempted to blind her when she did so. She heard a gasp, and looked, squinty-eyed, in the direction of whoever was approaching her. It was Fenarel.  
>The longhaired, blond male exclaimed with relief, dashing over to her. "You're awake! You've the gods' own luck, <em>lethallan<em>!"  
>"Fenarel…?"<br>He smiled, hazel eyes warm as he touched a hand to her elbow. "You're back at camp. Everyone has been worried sick about you. How do you feel?"  
>"Anxious," Helene replied. Thoughts were racing through her brain at an incomprehensible speed. Something was <em>wrong<em>, very wrong. She should be dead, shouldn't she? Though what in the creators' names would have killed her, she couldn't be certain. "Where is Tamlen?" She questioned. "And how did I get here?"  
>Fenarel stared at her blankly for a moment, expressing his confusion without words. His face soon fell. "… We don't know where Tamlen is. The <em>shem <em>– the one who brought you here – saw no sign of him,"  
>A tendril of fear writhed within Helene, made her sick with suspicion, and a black cloud of thought descended in her mind. All that might have become of her friend, all that probably had… She covered her mouth with her palm, then glanced up into Fenarel's face, registering all that he had said.<br>_The human… _she thought, as the memories came flooding back to her. Slipping in and out of consciousness… an elder man's voice, his face… reaching down to shield her, to pick her up off the ground…  
>She shut her eyes and seemed to cave in on herself, wobbly on her feet. "I… I don't remember anything. I was in a cave, then… nothing,"<br>Fenarel placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, offering his support. "It's okay, _falon_," he said, encouragingly. "You've been unconscious for two days. No one expects you to be quite yourself yet,"  
>"<em>Two days<em>?" Helene repeated, startled. No wonder she was feeling light-headed.  
>"Aye," Fenarel's eyes took on an altogether sad gloom, and he looked off into the distance. "The <em>shem<em>… he was a Grey Warden. He appeared out of nowhere with you slung over his shoulder. You were… delirious with fever. He said that he found you outside a cave in the forest, unconscious and alone. He left you here, and ran off again. The Keeper's been using the old magic to heal you."  
>For a moment it was all too much for Helene to take in. Only the other day (she prevented herself from thinking 'yesterday', no matter how much it felt like it had been), things had been so simple. And now this… She'd always been so respectful of her elders, of doing what the Keeper asked. But now Tamlen was gone, and she'd put the clan through unnecessary trauma.<br>_Keeper… _Helene thought, wincing. _Forgive me…  
><em>She pinched the bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes. "Is—Is anyone looking for Tamlen?" she asked, finally.  
>"No, not yet, at least," Fenarel said. "No one knows the way to the cave. They were waiting for you to wake up."<br>_Oh… Creators. No, I don't have to go back to that awful place, do I? _Helene thought desperately, turning cold. She tried not to dwell on it, tried to supress the nausea that seared through her. She eventually sighed in resignation. "I need to talk to the Keeper…"  
>Her friend nodded, understanding. "And she wants to talk to you too. But stay here; I'll get her,"<p>

Blossoms dislodged themselves from their branches, hurling a confetti of petals into the wind. One or two drifted into Helene's hair where she sat beneath a dormant sylvan, waiting for the arrival of her Keeper. She was sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, head in her hands, trembling. They were going to send her back to the ruins. Send her back to that terrible place, leading her entire clan into danger. Some great evil nested within that cave, and it might have planted that evil within her too. Within Tamlen. _He has to be alive_… she mentally pleaded. _Creators, please, don't let the Dread Wolf take him…  
><em>"I see you are awake, _da'len_."  
>Helene's head snapped up, her forlorn eyes searching that of the silvery-haired Keeper's who was stepping towards her. Marethari was of an undeterminable age, petite and motherly, her tattoos sweeping from her hairline down to the bridge of her nose in a rib-cage-like pattern, and curving from her cheeks to her lips in the same way Tamlen's did. <em>Do, <em>Helene corrected herself. _The same way Tamlen's _do.  
>She straightened, and bowed her head in silent apology, deferring to her elder.<br>Marethari held out her arms in a forgiving embrace, and Helene walked into them, losing herself in the harbour of those arms that she'd walked into since she was a fledgling. "Oh, _da'len, _it is fortunate Duncan found you when he did. I know not what dark power held you, but it nearly bled the life from you. It was difficult even for my magic to keep you alive,"  
><em>Poison… some ancient poison. But it's gone now, Keeper, you've saved me… <em>The more vulnerable side of Helene's mind whimpered, but she squashed it, overriding her humbling conscience with her usual, righteous persona. She pulled away from the embrace before she could drown herself in the comfort, before her walls could crumble and she could allow herself to cry. She raised her chin. "What happened to us?"  
>Marethari's poise faltered. "I was hoping to ask that of you, child. All that we know is that Duncan found you in a terrible state, with no sign of Tamlen,"<br>"Is Duncan the one who brought me back?" Helene asked, cradling her elbows as she folded her arms.  
>"Yes, he introduced himself as a Grey Warden. Duncan thought there may have been darkspawn creatures inside the cave. Is that true?" Marethari asked, tilting her head slightly to one side. A gesture that assured Helene that she had her undivided attention. It wasn't comforting, but pressurising. Helene looked down at her feet, sucked in a breath, then false-started. "I…"<br>"Calm, _da'len_…"  
>"There… There were- walking corpses, strange monsters, blighted animals…. but—mostly all I can remember is… is the mirror,"<br>Marethari's eyes darkened. "A mirror? And it caused all this?" She began to pace back and forth before her, cupping her chin and sighing. "I have never heard of such a thing in all the lore we have collected. I was hoping for answers when you awoke, but there are only more questions…"  
>"I'm sorry, Keeper. I tried to tell him to go back… There were things down there—elvish things—that we just did not understand. That mirror…" Helene attempted to apologise, to explain, but the Keeper raised her hand. "No matter. Tamlen remains missing, he is more important than any lore in these ruins. If he is as sick as you were, his condition is grave. Duncan returned to the cave to search for darkspawn, but we cannot rely on him to look for Tamlen as well. We must go ourselves, and quickly. Do you feel well enough to show us the way, <em>da'len<em>? Without you we will not find it,"  
>Helene nodded. Much as she was still dizzy and not quite herself, she desperately wanted to take up the search for Tamlen, even if it meant going back into those ruins. She'd gathered her courage, prioritising; Tamlen was more important than her fear. "I am up to it, Keeper. I feel… fine,"<br>Marethari, in turn, smiled thinly. "I am relieved to hear it. I am ordering the clan to pack the camp so we can go north. Take Merrill with you to the cave. Find Tamlen if you can, but do it swiftly. Merrill's magic will help you, Tamlen's chances of surviving the journey back are greater with her help. She needs to see this cave and mirror, she has a sense for these things, as you know. She could shed light on the nature of this illness,"  
>Helene only registered the information of the camp's movements, the rest lost in amongst a tide of her own concern. "The clan is leaving for the Free Marches? Now?"<br>"Yes, child. We have little else choice. We must avoid clashing with the nearby village, and avoid the battle to the south."  
>"Battle?" Helene repeated, a shard of ice slipping down her throat and into her gut.<br>Marethari patted her shoulder. "There- is to be war with the darkspawn," She confirmed.  
>Helene looked down. She should have expected so, what with the blighted animals she and Tamlen had encountered – the sign of the corruption that was spreading already. "So… it is a Blight after all," she muttered to herself, only to be brought back out of her reverie when the Keeper patted her shoulder once more.<br>"Many around the camp are anxious to speak with you, Mahariel. I suggest talking to them and giving them peace before leaving with Merrill."  
>"I understand, Keeper,"<br>"Go quickly, for Tamlen's life hangs in the balance." At this, Marethari withdrew her hand, and looked at Helene with such eyes that commanded the muscles in her legs to move, retreat. "We are thankful we did not lose you, my girl," The Keeper said with all the love and tenderness of a mother speaking to her own daughter, and Helene's heart swelled. She should never have disobeyed her. Her eyes stung as she turned and desperately tried to take her mind off of her own guilt by glancing around the camp. But even then, it felt as though she were seeing it for the first time.  
>Carts were full, as they had been, since they'd arrived, with rationed goods and resources, as well as a few items that would have been useful for a potential trade, should they ever feel inclined to engage in one. But as she watched, tents were being dismantled, belongings gathered. If she didn't hurry, they might all leave for the Free Marches without Tamlen, and without her.<br>When she looked back to ask the Keeper how much time she had, the elderly woman was gone. Instead, in the distance, she caught sight of another clan-elder, and when he caught her eye his face lit up, if only minimally. Paivel. He was dressed in a green tunic, long hair brushed back behind his pointed ears. Helene had not seen him smile once in all the years she had known him. She could not deny him an audience, and so stepped over to him, her movements sheepish, her posture faulty. She knew that a lecture would be coming, there always was with the elder. His face, however, fell with concern at the sight of her weak poise and paler-than-normal skin tone. A light was gone from her eyes. This was not Helene as she had been, but a crippled shell.  
>"So you have returned to us, <em>da'len<em>. We are grateful you are whole and well." He said, watching her closely. At least when Helene spoke she retained her usual disposition. "I am glad to be here as well, _hahren_."  
>Something about the way she looked then caused something inside of Paivel to snap. "So you should be! What were you two thinking? Wandering into that cave without first coming to tell the Keeper?"<br>Helene's face faltered but she masked it quickly. They both knew she should have known better. Instead of telling him the truth, instead of arguing with him that she'd tried to stop Tamlen, she submit to whatever he wished to believe in order to keep the peace. She hung her head, letting out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "I… you're right, _hahren_. We should have come back to her first,"  
>Paivel sniffed, eyes roaming over the camp, over the innocent children dancing in a ring formation on the lawn – fledglings that would look to hunters such as she; that saw her as a role model. He itched the area between his brows. "I suppose your youth can be forgiven. Sadly, Tamlen pays the price. Losing you would be a terrible crime, <em>da'len<em>. You belong to more than just yourself, or do you not remember?"  
>Helene noticed his eyes having wandered over to the fledglings and surrendered to the lecture she had expected. She repeated what he had told her, and the other fledglings, since they were babes, but she did so sincerely. "'I am one of the People. I serve the clan.'"<br>"Truly. We'd be at a loss without you, girl." Paivel said, gesturing to her with an open hand. "Good luck in your search, and may the gods guide your path, _da'len_," He looked up then, and his expression changed minimally as he regarded someone drawing near, over Helene's shoulder. "Ah. Fenarel,"  
>Helene turned. "<em>Lethallin<em>?"  
>The young man in question had retrieved his sword, and had it strapped to his back. Fenarel's face was flushed from having moved agitatedly through camp, expression firm. "Is the Keeper sending you back to that cave to look for Tamlen?" He asked, impatiently.<br>Helene nodded slowly. "Yes, with Merrill."  
>Fenarel clenched his fists at his sides, a rash creeping up from his neck to his jaw as determination swept through him. "I want to go with you! Keeper Marethari probably won't approve, but I want to help find Tamlen."<br>"It's too dangerous, Fenarel." Helene dismissed, though her stomach dropped. She didn't enjoy the thought of going back to those ruins as it was, and she had mixed feelings about returning with her clansmen. She'd appreciate the company, the support, but would that only lead to further danger? "… I'm only supposed to take the First–"  
>Fenarel seethed. "And you think Merrill cares more than I do? She came to us from the Alerion clan, but we two and Tamlen- we were born here. We grew up together. Tamlen's my friend too! I want to help find him! If Merrill can risk it then so can I!"<br>Helene was stunned into silence at his outburst. It was true Merrill had been granted as a 'gift' to the Keeper as a child, to be tutored to become First, and she'd always been on the fringes of the clan, but they _had _grown up together. Merrill was a good friend. Or, was it only that all this time she was a good friend to _her_?  
>"Please, Fenarel," Helene implored instead. "I'm only thinking of your safety. I will not stop you, but I'd rather ask the Keeper about this."<br>He made to object once more, but then something in his face changed. Maybe he had glanced at Paivel's disapproving face, maybe it was the concern evident in Helene's voice, but something brought him back to himself. No, going against the Keeper had started this mess.  
>He hung his head and sighed. "All right, <em>lethallan<em>. I'll ask the Keeper. Then we can go and meet with Merrill."  
>Helene exhaled, content with this odd compromise. The two of them then began to wander the camp, at first aimlessly. Finally, Helene narrowed her eyes somewhat at her companion. "Fenarel?"<br>"Mm?" he replied distractedly.  
>"You don't like Merrill very much… do you?"<br>Fenarel, surprised, stopped, but then shook his head. "It's not that. She's just… in her own world. Or stuck in the past. She's so naïve, but she's got such responsibility,"  
>"And you don't think she can live up to it?" Helene prompted.<br>"No, I don't."  
>She kept her face void of expression, unsure how to take his opinion. Eventually she nodded in something that wasn't quite acceptance. She didn't agree, but she wasn't about to start a needless argument with her friend. "I'll… ask Maren when the clan will be moving on,"<br>Fenarel allowed her to quit the conversation. Helene had a habit of dropping out when conflict or argument was close, and most of the time he thought it was just so she had the final say. Evidently not this time, but her quick change of the subject was enough for him to surmise that she didn't agree with him. Fenarel always had, and always would, see Merrill as an outsider. He heaved a sigh. "Then, I'll go to the Keeper. Promise me you won't leave without me?"  
>"I promise," Helene swore. He threw her a look then, one that she couldn't quite read. It was tender, and it was commanding, but what he was mutely saying was in another language, unfathomable to Helene. After he'd departed, she moved through the throng of people that had gathered in camp, her kinfolk discussing the move, talking in lowered tones about the Free Marches and whether or not they'd have to leave any goods behind in order to make the journey.<br>Just off of the main camp, the giant Halla pen was situated, fenced by wooden pickets. The creatures that grazed within were calm, stood together in small groups or pairs, their snow-white flanks gleaming in the sun. The Halla were striking creatures, sacred to the Dalish. All looked as though they were carved from the purest ivory, but with life breathed into them. Delicate stags with horns that wove into intricate patterns – beings, not just animals, that the clan would protect with their lives.  
>Maren, the rancher, was stood with her hands resting on the fence, watching over a particular group fondly. Her ornate robes were dirtied and torn at the hem, no doubt from a previous excursion in the pen that morning, and her flame red hair was mussed, her braids coming loose. When she heard Helene approaching, she turned and smiled, letting out a breath. "<em>Aneth ara<em>. It's good to see you recovered, Mahariel."  
>Helene smiled back. "Thank you. How are the Halla faring, Maren?"<br>"They fare well. They'll be ready to take us to Sundermount. One is heavy with calf but it shouldn't be a problem." She said brightly, gesturing to a Halla in the group she had been monitoring. The creature's underside was swollen with child.  
>Maren stalled, made to say something, then her tongue ceased. Eventually she managed to find the words enough to speak. "<em>Falon<em>—may I… ask of Tamlen's fate? Some say the clan will leave before we find him."  
>Helene's eyes widened, alarm bells ringing within the dark fog of her mind. The black thoughts rampaged once more. "No, I– I won't allow that to happen. We <em>will<em> find him, do not worry."  
>Maren half-turned back to face the pen, and Helene glanced too, at a Halla fawn than then tipped back its head and let out a wail that was enough to make Helene's throat turn dry with the promise of imminent tears. "The Halla mourn our fallen," Maren explained. "… No sound is more heart wrenching than their mourning cry. At least they won't be crying over you- they are quite fond of you,"<br>Helene deflated with an exhaled breath, watching as the fawn was nuzzled by its mother, and rubbed stubbornly at her eyes. "Hah… And I them. They are beautiful creatures."  
>Maren seemed to grow distant then. When she spoke, it was in a faraway, wistful tone. "I admire them for their strength and pride. They are equals, not servants like the <em>shemlen<em> horses." The rancher then turned back to Helene, contemplation over. "At any rate, I do not envy the Keeper's decision. I will pray for Tamlen's safe return."  
>Before Helene could reply, Fenarel appeared beside her. "The Keeper has granted me leave. She was thankful that she was consulted," He then glanced to Maren, nodded in acknowledgement, before he turned to leave. "Shall we go, Helene? We should ask Master Ilen if he could give us anything before we set off,"<br>"Yes. _Dareth shiral_, Maren," Helene said softly, before heading to the elderly quartermaster and craftsman at Fenarel's behest. He was nearby, though busy, at first, equipping a young hunter. When Ilen caught sight of Helene he summoned her with a wave of his hand, eager to see her. After the boy was done thanking the elder, cradling his new weapon as he left, Ilen turned to Helene. "I am glad you've recovered, Mahariel. Once we've found Tamlen, we can concentrate on the journey northward," He said, to which Helene bowed her head in silent prayer. Yes, positive thinking was what was required. _Once we _have_ found Tamlen. Not 'if'.  
><em>When she raised her head, Ilen had dug into one of the crates behind him and retrieved a longbow. "_Da'len_, here, have one of my own crafting. It'll help you in your search for Tamlen. It may not have a history, but you'll provide one for it soon enough, yes?"  
>Helene swallowed a sudden block in her throat, suppressed a gasp and accepted the bow with careful hands, palms open to the sky. "I– Master Ilen, I'm speechless,"<br>"I know there was nothing wrong with your old bow," He said, artfully. "But this will be the start of new, bigger things for us. Let's shed our life here in Ferelden, and ring in the new,"  
>The bow was light, made of a pale-coloured wood. It possessed an enviable length and as Helene whipped it through the air, it whistled with speed and agility. It had been intricately crafted, and her surname had been engraved on the upper curve. Just for her. "<em>Ma serannas," <em>She thanked and Ilen chuckled. "You can practise over yonder, though I'm sure you won't need to. Junar's training a runaway over there; he arrived just after the Grey Warden returned you,"  
>Helene followed his gaze. Sure enough, there was an elf up ahead with cropped auburn hair, maintaining a poor hold on his shortbow. He had no mark of the <em>Vallaslin<em> tattoos – facial markings in homage to the creators – but, then, neither did Helene. It was his fumbling awkwardness that pointed him out; he was definitely an outsider.  
>Fenarel's bottom lip was pronounced in something of a pout, his own hands empty of a weapon from the respected craftsman, but when Ilen looked at him disapprovingly he gave up and followed Helene to what had been set up into a target range.<br>Junar eventually turned, having felt the burn of Helene's eyes, and his eyebrows rose. "Ah! It's good to see you're well!" He grinned, brushing back his grown-out dark-brown hair. He then smiled apologetically, having realised that Helene had probably received that greeting from everyone in the camp that morning. Instead he turned to his apprentice, and gestured to him. "You… weren't here when Pol arrived, were you?"  
>Before Helene could answer that no, she had not, the young man broke in. He had just misfired an arrow into the treeline, distracted by her arrival, when he faced her, nervous and tense. "I-I've heard of you… Everyone is talking about you and the other missing hunter. A Grey Warden brought you back here!"<br>Helene at first pursed her lips, but after she had disregarded his unawareness and innocence, she smiled at his misplaced nerves. "The hunter's name is Tamlen. You're… not Dalish, are you?  
>Pol laughed, shedding some, but not all, of his anxiety. "That obvious, is it? I just found your camp a couple of days ago… a lucky thing. I heard rumours in a nearby human village that a Dalish camp was close, and I hoped to find your hunters in the forest." Pol had the distinctive accent of a city elf, or that of an urban <em>shem<em>. Helene's own accent was not far off, having been raised by Ashalle. Helene's guardian did not have the enunciation of the People, for, like Pol, she'd been raised in an Alienage. After all these years it had not left her, and it had been passed onto Helene as though it were contagious.  
>Junar clapped Pol on the back, frightening him into a slight jump. "You were fortunate I didn't shoot you, Pol. I thought you were a <em>shem<em>… and a bandit at that. You're not the first city elf to re-join his people. I'm sure you'll find life among us more satisfying than with the _shems_, if no less harsh."  
>Pol smiled self-consciously, then shuffled his feet, suddenly feeling all the more awkward. "In the Alienage we hear terrible stories about the Dalish. They… aren't true, right?" He glanced from Junar to Helene, then back again quickly.<br>Helene almost laughed. She cracked a smile. "You've nothing to worry about, Pol."  
>He practically slumped with relief. "Thank you. The clan has been very kind and welcoming, I never expected it to be like this." Emphatic, an invisible weight seemed to then lift from his shoulders and pulled him to his full height. "<em>D-Dareth– shiral<em>?"  
>Helene nodded reassuringly. "<em>Dareth shiral, Pol,<em>"  
>Fenarel then took her by the arm, and, as soon as they were out of earshot, whispered in her ear as they walked on. "He's a twitchy one. I don't think he'll adjust to believing in our creators, if you can imagine such a thing. Too much of his life was spent with the <em>shems<em>,"  
>"He seems fine,"<br>"Aye, but not very promising," Fenarel shrugged. He glanced back quickly, watching Junar continuing to coach the newcomer in question, and frowned. "He's already fixed his eyes on Merrill, you know,"  
>Helene paused. "He's… what?"<br>"He's keen on her. Been watching her these past couple of days and following her like a little lost lamb when Junar doesn't wrangle him back,"  
>The wind picked up then, blowing firmly into them and causing Helene's face to crease as she battled against the air.<br>"He's young," she said eventually, to which Fenarel seemed to nod in agreement.  
>They were silently walking in the direction of the aravel at the far end of the camp – a vehicle that the <em>shemlen <em>referred to as a Dalish landship. There, Merrill's tent had been pitched since they'd set up camp here, and Helene figured it was most likely that she'd be there.  
>The forest here began to close into a winding route, the clearing fading into clumps of trees. Fenarel and Helene followed the path until they reached a large depressed area within the forest, surrounded on all sides by steep embankments, but broken up by paths. It was nevertheless open; in the centre of the clearing was a burning hearth, surrounded by benches lined with gossiping women. Amongst them was one sat with her hands in her lap, her face ashen and grave. When this woman looked up, the colour seeped back into her skin. Ashalle raised her arms with joy, and threw herself off of the bench and in the direction of the approaching girl. She pulled Helene into an embrace as soon as her ward had come close enough. "By the Creators, it is good to see you whole and well! I was so worried!" She exclaimed, cradling Helene close as though she were a child again, resting her head against hers and running her fingers absently through the gathered hair of her ponytail.<br>Helene closed her eyes and leant into her surrogate mother, the one person who never failed to make her feel at home. "_Aneth ara_, Ashalle. It is good to see you too." She said with emphasis. "But you really shouldn't worry so much about me…."  
>Ashalle carried on as though she hadn't heard her, swaying from side to side in an attempt to rock her. "All that time you were ill, the Keeper didn't know if you were going to live or die! I've been outside the Keeper's tent the whole time. I have never been so relieved as when I heard you would pull through! I was told to let you rest but… What happened? Everyone says Tamlen may be… may be dead…" Ashalle's voice faltered.<br>Helene pulled away from the embrace, her smile crumbling, her face falling. "They… may be right…" She said, glancing away, trying not to think on the matter.  
>Fenarel's brows furrowed. "Mahariel…"<br>"But I refuse to give up on him." Helene said with conviction, her voice steely with the stress she'd put on her belief.  
>Ashalle hung her head, bangs of grey hair falling in her eyes. "It's awful. He's been a good friend to you since you were fledglings. I know how much you care about each other, I always hoped you and he would—" She trailed off, sighing. " –but that doesn't matter now. You <em>must<em> be more careful. Your mother and father, may they rest in peace, would be horrified to see you take such risks."  
>Helene flinched, but it wasn't an all-together unpleasant shock. She deliberately avoided the comment about her and Tamlen's relationship. "You've never spoken of my parents much, Ashalle…"<br>The elder woman shifted where she stood, and held herself carefully, looking around at the other women they had stepped away from. It was clear she was suddenly uncomfortable. "I… What happened to them is a sad tale, and it is in the past. Reopening old wounds benefits no one. You've much to do tonight, what with Tamlen still missing. We will talk about this some other time, _da'len."  
><em>Helene's face was composed and virtuous, but persistent, and something in her countenance then made Ashalle yield. _Creators, she looks just like her mother_… she thought.  
>"Perhaps… you are old enough to hear this, though it—hardly seems like the right time." She said with much hesitation.<br>"Is there ever a right time?" Helene prompted. With confirmation that they were moving on sooner than imagined who knew when she'd get the chance to hear this again? What if the clan left without her?  
>Fenarel scratched the nape of his neck awkwardly. "I, uh… I'll be waiting by the path," he excused himself, and Ashalle tipped her head towards him in thanks. Then, she turned back to Helene, a hand nursing her head as though it ached. "Very well, Helene. If I do not tell you now, you'll only wonder." She looked around, and then took Helene further to the side, sitting her down on a bench. "Your mother was a hunter, like you. One of the finest. By the Creators don't you just take after her? – A-And your father, he was the Keeper before Marethari. He was with us for a very long time, but nonetheless young for a Keeper. Your mother was from another clan and her elders did not approve of the match, so she and your father had to keep it a secret. One day… bandits caught them alone in the forest. Your father was killed, but your mother escaped,"<br>Whatever Helene had expected, whatever story she had imagined in her head to explain the loss of the parents she had never met, splintered and knifed through her. She turned cold, numb, paralysed to the spot. _Humans… killed my father? _She thought, an uncharacteristic wave of bitterness sweeping through her. She found herself digging her nails into the palm of her hand, sickened. "But I… always thought they died together," she said despairingly.  
>"No, your mother held to life long enough to give birth to you. But grief racked her heart. One night, she… she simply walked into the moonlight and never returned,"<br>"—My… mother abandoned me?" Helene summarised, feeling wretched.  
>"No, she just… she couldn't carry on without your father. The clan decided not to discuss this around you, lest it poison your heart with sadness,"<br>_And it has. I could have done without knowing humans were responsible… _Helene thought, lips turning into a slight frown. Now she almost wished she had let Tamlen have his way with the three humans that had led them to the cave. The _shemlen _that had led them into that doomed place– they were the reason Tamlen was lost to begin with! The reason that her own life had been in such peril! Helene clenched her teeth."I understand…"  
>"Our People have learned to live with such sorrow, it seemed only right that we not dwell on it. Your mother <em>did <em>leave you a gift – something of your father's for you to have once you were older. Perhaps the time has come?" Ashalle continued.  
>"I…" Helene didn't know what to say. The world had changed colour for her, her naivety had been lost to a sudden prejudice that was beginning to speak to her and she, contrarily, almost didn't want anything to do with the memory of her parents.<br>"It's part of your heritage." Ashalle prompted, softly. "Here, turn around,"  
>Almost without consciously doing so, Helene did as she was bade to and turned, shutting her eyes. She heard Ashalle fumble for something that rattled in her pocket, before something was draped over her head. She felt it settle to her chest; wooden beads that did not all conform to one shape – she could feel so against her skin. When she opened her eyes and looked down, Helene saw a necklace, each bead carefully carved into the shape of a different animal. She spotted a wolf, a bear, a Halla, a crow, and many others, and she fingered the beads in quiet contemplation. This heirloom… owning it might not be so bad after all. She suddenly felt as though a piece of a great puzzle had been solved, that she was one step closer to being 'complete'. Though something was missing, still; one half of the coin was blank.<br>It did not matter how much Ashalle longed for their union, but Tamlen had always been just a friend to Helene. Even now, her love for him was that of a sister for her brother, not that of a lover. Helene had not yet met anyone that had stolen her heart. She thought about this now, of all the times to think of it. Her mother and father had a forbidden love, but that had never stopped them. Helene wondered if she, too, one day would find someone that she would rather die than be without.  
>Ashalle let out a breath like a sigh. "Helene, when did you turn into such a fine young woman?"<br>Helene looked up, heart jolting in surprise. For a moment she believed her mind had been read, but then she simply smiled in gratitude. No words could express what she felt at that moment. Instead, Ashalle spoke for her, putting a hand on her knee and giving it a shake. "Go. Find him, Tamlen is counting on you,"  
>"<em>Ma serannas… mamae<em>," Helene said and in response Ashalle's cheeks flushed, her eyes shining. In all her years of caring for her, of raising her, Helene had never once called her 'mother'; she had never expected that she would. Flustered, she glanced down at her lap and bit back a staggered laugh. "Go, _da'len_."  
>She did.<p>

Merrill had finished packing up her tent when Fenarel and Helene arrived. She was helping a few souls load the aravel, and did so sprightly. When she caught sight of Helene however, she stopped what she was doing immediately, almost causing an accident in the process as she dropped the load she'd been carrying. That was Merrill for you – clumsy as ever.  
>"Oh! <em>Lethallan<em>! The Keeper told me I'm to… accompany you back to those caves!" She said, clambering down from the side of the aravel and gathering all of the goods that had fallen out of the crate when she'd dropped it. Helene stepped forward to help her, but Merrill was quick, and when she was done she brushed herself down. "I want to examine these ruins, but... Tamlen is our main priority, of course."  
>Fenarel eyed her critically, and looked to Helene as if to prove his point from their earlier discussion, no doubt disapproving of her attitude. Helene ignored him. "Merrill…. I'm worried." She said, honestly.<br>Merrill's face crumpled with sorrow. "As am I, Helene." she said, taking hold of her wrist and looking to her sadly. "I'm sorry to have to take you back there, but we should hurry, Tamlen may not have much time."  
>Helene winced at the thought. "Yes. Oh… –Merrill? You should take a look at the mirror, too.<br>The raven-haired girl in question paused. She'd been moving to retrieve her staff where she'd propped it up against the landship, but now turned, intrigued. "… Mirror? What mirror?"  
>Indigo flashes coursed through Helene's mind and she was forced to shut her eyes in order to cast the images away. Again she heard the drumming in her brain, heard the roar of the unknown entity that sounded as though it might be coming from right beside her. But then the sounds were gone as quickly as they had come. "It… It was like nothing I have ever seen before." She said uncertainly, before she shook her head. "No, I don't wish to talk about it. Fenarel is coming with us to the ruins."<br>Merrill's eyebrows rose, but only slightly. "I thought we were supposed to go alone? What did the Keeper say? I thought the cave was a dangerous place, you want to risk Fenarel getting hurt, or worse?" She spoke, all in what sounded like one breath, her voice steadily rising with each fired-out question.  
>Fenarel folded his arms. "<em>I<em> should decide whether I'm willing to risk it or not."  
>"Go tell the Keeper that, then." Merrill replied just as sourly.<br>Her short response didn't bode well with Fenarel, and he snapped before Helene could mediate. "I did! By the Creators, we all grew up together, Merrill! We're all friends! How can I just sit by?"  
>"Not now, Fenarel–" Helene had begun when Merrill interjected too. "–This isn't <em>important<em> right now. We need to go, while it's still daylight. Tamlen needs us,"  
>"I agree," Helene said quickly, before Fenarel could cause a scene once again. What was wrong with him lately was something that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Perhaps she had never seen the conflict between he and Merrill before? Perhaps she had never noticed because they were never often together? Or maybe it was just that the situation was making him tense. Helene couldn't be sure, but – whatever the reason – it was making a difficult situation harder. "Please, can we just focus on this task?" She implored desperately.<br>Merrill and Fenarel both glanced at her, then gathered themselves. After a reflective silence, the words: "Ready when you are," were spoken by them in almost perfect harmony.


	6. Chapter Five: The Lost Mysteries

**CHAPTER FIVE:** THE LOST MYSTERIES

* * *

><p><em>"The journey was known as the Long Walk, for a Long Walk it indeed was. The Elvhen roamed without<em>  
><em>a destination: carrying the burden of their history, and kindling the hope of the future. The Creators <em>  
><em>rewarded those with unshakeable belief, but many were lost along the way."<br>_

* * *

><p><span>Helene<span>

Helene's legs felt as though they were made of lead.  
>Her companions set her pace, much as her mind told her to take as much time as she wished. The thought of returning to that dark place was making her movements slower and slower with each step closer they came. She was afraid of what they might find there: Tamlen's corpse, or worse? Despite her reservations, she obediently led the way, pressed on by the silent urgency that was building around them like a cloud, thickening the atmosphere. They'd been trekking for what felt like close to half-hour when Helene's head began to ache. It wasn't, by any standards, a typical headache. This one crippled her vision, made her unsteady on her feet, made the words of concern from Merrill and Fenarel dissolve in amongst the roaring and singing chorus that marched on within her blood. A migraine that dissipated only when she looked up to see that they were on the path that wound down to the mountain, the same that curved around the pitfall she had navigated earlier with Tamlen. And at the bottom of the path, awaiting them… was a creature like Helene had never seen, of those that she had heard tales of, heard warnings of: a creature of nightmares.<br>The gaze of horrifically protruding eyes bore into Helene from a distance of a good many yards. Blood seeped from the creature's splitting skin, arms and face blistered as though with disease, jagged teeth bore in a menacing, challenging sneer. An undead monster, soldier of the endless horde. _Darkspawn_. And behind the scout? Helene counted four more of them.  
>She, Fenarel and Merrill acted only once their initial paralysation with fear had worn off, giving the darkspawn at the front of the band enough time to throw back its head and let out a bellow that almost made Fenarel's legs give way beneath him as he moved to race on ahead, drawing his sword.<br>Merrill charged her mana, calling her magic to hand. She channelled the energy through her staff, conjuring a blast that seared through the air and knocked a small dwarven-sized darkspawn off of its feet.  
>Helene, after initially recoiling in horror, began to pick off the approaching creatures one by one as they attempted to make progress up the hill towards them. Fenarel dodged a sword-swing from a rampaging hurlock, but only just barely, and as the darkspawn swung its second blow, Helene took it out with a well-placed arrow to the jugular, which seemed to have the same effect as with all the humanoid creatures of Thedas – it fell down, dead, blood spurting from its neck.<br>Merrill fired another long-range blast of energy, the orb sizzling through the air and glowing all colours of the spectrum before it penetrated the darkspawn scout that had been at the front of the band. It stunned the creature long enough for Fenarel to scale the rest of the downhill trail of earthen mounds, and plunge his sword into the monster's back.  
>Helene and Merrill ran after him, Merrill losing her battle composure almost immediately after the last darkspawn fell. She was now practically hyperventilating, her green eyes wide and round with disbelief. "Were those—darkspawn?" she squeaked.<br>Fenarel removed his sword from his kill and, panting, looked at her, heavily. "You mean _you_ don't know, Merrill?"  
>"I've never <em>seen<em> one!" She exclaimed. "You can _smell_ the evil on them! Where did they come from? Were they here before?" This last question she shot at Helene.  
>Helene's hand came up to hold her throbbing head. "No. No, they were not."<br>Merrill began to pace back and forth, shaking her head, holding onto her staff tightly and stubbing it against the ground with each cycle from point A back to B. "The Grey Warden must have followed them here but—but why would they come here?"  
>Fenarel sniffed, wiping his bloodied blade on his breeches. "We'll find out soon enough." He said bluntly, sheathing his weapon.<br>Merrill distractedly rubbed her lips with her thumb, cupping her chin in hand much in the same way the Keeper did. "No, let's- let's hope we don't see anymore of these monsters." She willed, before glancing at Helene to check how she was faring. Her companion, however, looked pallid and weak. "… Ah, are you all right, _lethallan_? Were you—hurt in the fight at all?"  
>Helene shook away the lingering migraine, and held herself upright. "I'm fine, why do you ask?"she said, guardedly.<br>"You… do look quite pale, now that Merrill's mentioned it." Fenarel agreed. Paler than her usual colour, anyway.  
>"I'm fine," Helene said again, though she felt more like she was trying to convince herself more so than her companions. It took all her will and better judgement to discount her own fatigue, and the agony that lingered in her head.<br>Merrill put her free arm around her affectionately and gave her a quick squeeze. "I'll keep an eye on you – you've only just recovered, so it's natural for you to be a little weak. But for now, we should move on."  
>Helene cast her eyes aside in silent, contemplative apprehension, trying to ignore the throbbing in her blood, the noises that consumed her, the headache that was currently caged within her mind, though threatening to break free at any instant. Was she 'fine'? Did she really believe that that Keeper had healed her, and that the saga was over? No; part of her knew this wasn't over by a long shot.<br>Further on down the meandering, unmapped path they were navigating around the cliff-face, they encountered a camp. The hearths ashes were crackling and popping as they collapsed in on each other. The fire had been doused, but the camp was clearly fresh; the smell of smoke still lingered in the air.  
>Merrill crouched down curiously beside the spent fire. "Ooh—I wonder who's camp this is?" She mused aloud, before glancing back. "Do you remember it being here before, Helene?"<br>"No, this wasn't here." Helene said with a shake of her head. "It's fresh. Did Marethari not say that the _shemlen _who found me had returned to the ruins? Perhaps it belongs to him," She deduced. She then hissed with pain and attempted to ease the pressure of one of her shoulder pads off of her wounded shoulder. Her Keeper had healed it, yes, and a salve had been rubbed in, minimising any scarring, but… when Helene glanced at it, the mark was bruised and blackening. Fenarel moved to comfort her, but Helene glanced at it him in dismissal. No, she didn't need comforting, she could deal with this on her own. Her own resolve had gotten her this far, and it would continue to carry her through.  
>Merrill stood, her back to them, oblivious. "… Maybe you're right. Either way, he's not here now." She toyed with a braid in her dark hair, solemn. "We've… seen no sign of Tamlen…" she said sorrowfully. "Maybe we should–"<br>Helene made to open her mouth, to tell her not to give up on their clansman, when the First turned pale, head jerking around frantically. "Wait—do you hear that?"  
>"I don't hear anything." Fenarel said shortly, frowning.<br>Helene's eyes, twin pieces of coal set in her pallid face, blackened as she caught Merrill's drift. "That's it. It's too quiet."  
>"Exactly," Merrill said, her hand resting over her heart in concern as she looked up into the tree canopies, trying to spot some sign of life. "The forest is too still. Something is in the air– s-something unnatural."<br>She was right. Some invisible blanket had smothered all life out of the forest, and there was a darkness in the atmosphere that wasn't quite tangible. It was like breathing when in a fog, sucking in air with difficulty. Some other substance was present, something sinister. "I don't like this…" Helene frowned.  
>Merrill's hands made vague, frantic gestures in the air, her voice steadily speeding up, nervously. "Maybe whatever you woke up inside the cave has… spread outside? Well, the sooner we find these ruins, and Tamlen, the sooner we can leave. Take us there quickly, Mahariel?"<br>Helene tipped her head in a slight nod, and together they pressed onwards.

The atmosphere was thicker when they were within the ruins. It was as though the air was filled with a thick but ethereal smog, and it was starting to become more and more apparent. A seeping taint, airborne. Breeding in the darkness here.  
>Merrill was looking around curiously, her eyes growing large once more, sparkling with sudden, eager life. "So these are the ruins?"<br>Helene hummed an affirmative, and glanced up at the bracket set on the wall where she had taken a torch from only days before, morose.  
>"They're definitely of human origin…" Merrill mused aloud, pushing on ahead and touching any stonework that particularly called to her. "… yet elven artefacts are scattered amongst them. It's- <em>incredible<em>. Nothing explains the monsters, though. Still, we must find Tamlen… or… what's left of him. Do you think he could be alive—with all these creatures about…?"  
>Fenarel snapped. "Don't talk like that! You don't know. You-"<br>Helene shut her eyes and squeezed them tight; trying to dispel images of Tamlen in her mind- of the last moment she'd seen him, of him touching that forsaken mirror. Her mind sing-songed that he would have returned by now, in some way, in some form, had he been alive. The _shemlen _who had found her would have found him too, of this she was sure. "She's… She's probably right," Helene said, swallowing thickly. _… I know it…I know he is gone, I just- I just don't need to hear it. _It was a bitter medicine to swallow. She raised her head, determination apparent in her face, but not so much in her own mindset. "But we should keep trying. For his sake," This she said weakly, her voice almost leaving her outright.  
>Merrill bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Helene. We should explore deeper before we fear the worst."<br>But exploring deeper made them feel all the more certain that he was gone. They were attacked by yet more darkspawn, these mostly of the dwarven-sized genlock variety, and it took all of their energy just to overcome them.  
>And just as Helene led her friends down a deeper corridor, rounding the corner to reach the room that had held the mirror from before, she found herself stopping shortly, eyes widening in horror. Droves and droves of insects and arachnids were crawling in their direction, specifically <em>away<em> from their destination. They were marching with a purpose in thick, shifting columns, even crawling over the trio's feet in their desperation to escape. Merrill was shuddering and suppressing a whimper, while Helene let out a wisp of a breath that sounded like a hiss. Fenarel stood paralysed to the spot.  
>When the three finally looked up, they saw what the cave-bugs had been scuttling away from. Up ahead, crouched to the ground, was a darkspawn in thick armour, picking the helmet off of a corpse so savagely that the skull collapsed as it tugged.<br>"_Urhuhhh_…." The creature seemed to gurgle as it positioned it on its head, the headgear almost comically loose. It turned and snarled at them as soon as it was alerted to their presence, pulling itself to its feet with a cane. No… not a cane. A _staff_.  
>Fenarel cursed. A darkspawn mage- an emissary.<br>Helene had drawn her bow and armed it before the emissary had any further time to react. She aimed and fired, precisely, at the creature's eye socket, her attack followed closely by a bolt of lightning that shot from the palms of Merrill's hands. Then, Fenarel charged.  
>The creature was growling and whining in pain, a hand covering its gored eye as it tried to tug the arrow free, to relieve the pressure on its brain. Fenarel did that for him, as he sliced his sword through the thick wedge of the creature's neck, and decapitated it where it stood. Its body slumped to the floor, but released a charge of built-up energy into the atmosphere that knocked the three almost completely off of their feet.<br>Fenarel cursed in elvish and grasped at the cobwebbed wall in order to steady himself, while Merrill and Helene supported each other's balance until they were stabile.  
>Fenarel gathered himself, fingers digging into the grooves of the stonework. "I—I didn't know darkspawn could be mages," He wheezed, panting.<br>"Of course they can," Merrill gasped, almost doubled over with exertion. "That's the rumour, isn't it? How they began? Weren't they Tevinter magisters?"  
>"According to the <em>shems <em>and their bogus religion," Fenarel shot back, disapprovingly.  
>"All religions are founded on <em>some <em>truth,"  
>"Careful, Merrill. You don't want to blaspheme now,"<br>"You–"  
>"This is it," Helene cut in coolly, halting another argument that threatened to bubble over between the two. This was no time for conflict. She motioned to the door to their right, the sickening nostalgia returning. This was déjà vu, reliving this experience all over again. She would open up that door, and inside there would be a Blighted bear, and it would be standing over Tamlen's mauled body and snarl at her. <em>You do not belong here<em>. No, she didn't; _they_ hadn't, and Tamlen had paid the price for his curiosity. She tried to tell herself that the emissary that had, rather conveniently, been beside the door meant nothing, that it had just been a coincidence and not drawn to anything that rested within, but she kept an offensive hold on her bow all the same. She instructed Merrill to open the door, who did so with her magic. The door swung away from the charged orb she fired at it but, this time, Helene was the first in. This time she would not let any harm come to her kin.  
>The dark cavern of a room was again only lit by what seemed to be a cave-in in the ceiling, revealing sunbursts of light. The eeriness of the place had intensified since Helene had last seen it, but there was something- something preventing it from being overwhelming. When her eyes adjusted, she saw the proverbial light in the dark.<br>Inside the room… was a human. He was stood contemplating the mirror. Helene had had an arrow poised ready to fire, but now she stalled. The human glanced over his shoulder then, and instantly his familiar face seemed to conjure forth memories of forgotten dreams or supposed realities. The Grey Warden. Helene lowered her bow.  
>As soon as she had stepped into the room, Merrill's eyes had been drawn to the mirror, pulled, magnetised. Her face was alight with a childlike wonder, lips parted in some form of adoration. She saw it first before she saw the Warden, and as she stepped forward to investigate it it was only then that she took notice of him.<br>Duncan had bronzed skin that seemed to suggest he had lineage that stemmed from one of the more northern countries, perhaps Tevinter or Antiva. He seemed to possess a firm but fair disposition, while his face was generally kind. Helene put him in his late forties or early fifties – there were deep wrinkles set in his brow. He was rugged, and had a dark, thick beard and moustache, with jet-black hair tied out of his eyes.  
>Duncan raised a thick brow in approval. "So you were the one fighting darkspawn? I thought I heard combat." He turned fully, stepping over to the three of them but speaking exclusively and favourably to Helene. "You're the elf I found while wandering the forest, aren't you? I'm- surprised you have recovered."<br>Fenarel clenched his fists. "If you heard us fighting then why didn't you step in and help, _shem_?" He spat.  
>"Fenarel!" It was Merrill that scolded him.<br>Helene stepped forward. "You're the Grey Warden who saved me. I… owe you a great deal," She said placidly, feeling the compulsion to curtsey. She didn't.  
>Duncan chuckled. "Hardly. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. The last time we spoke, you were barely conscious."<br>Here, Merrill stepped in. "_Andaran atish'an, _Duncan of the Grey Wardens. I… I am Merrill, the Keeper's apprentice." She bowed where Helene did not.  
>"And I am Fenarel," The blonde hunter sniffed, folding his arms and eyeing the Warden suspiciously. "Did you… come here alone, human? Battling all those creatures?"<br>Duncan tipped his head. "Yes. Though I must admit, you took a great deal of pressure off me. Your Keeper did not send you after me, did she? I told her I would be in no danger."  
>One of Fenarel's brows rose. 'In' no danger? If they <em>had<em> been sent to follow him, it would have been because _he _was a danger.  
>Helene shook her head. "We're looking for our clansmen, Tamlen."<br>Duncan sobered, grim. "So you and your friend Tamlen both entered this cave? And you saw this mirror?"  
>"Yes, Tamlen touched the mirror, but I was then knocked unconscious." Helene waved a hand. "Have you found any trace of him?" She implored.<br>Duncan let out a deep breath through his nose. "I see. That's… unfortunate. Sadly I have not come across your fellow clansman. This mirror, however… the Grey Wardens have seen artefacts of its like before. It may be Tevinter in origin, believed to have been used for communication. Over time, some of them simply… break. They become filled with the same taint as the darkspawn. Tamlen's touch must have released it. It's what made you sick- and Tamlen too, I presume."  
><em>I had the darkspawn plague? <em>Helene's migraine almost rushed back to the forefront of her mind, making her light-headed. She clutched onto her bow tight and grit her teeth to stop herself from losing consciousness. "Then we should destroy it," she said bluntly, voice unusually tight.  
>Merrill looked at her, then to Duncan, shocked. "But—wait, can we not fix it?"<br>The elder Warden levied her a concealed, disapproving glance. "Unfortunately, no. It will taint all those who come near it now."  
>"B-But I do not fear this sickness; the Keeper knows how to cure it!" Merrill, again, objected.<br>Duncan remained stone-faced however, and folded his arms stiffly. "She may have weakened it, but she cannot cure it." Then, he looked to Helene, and his face softened once more. "Unfortunately, that also applies to you. Your recovery is—only temporary. I can sense the sickness in you, and it is spreading. Look inside yourself, and you will see."  
>Fenarel made to shout, made to object at the Warden writing off their Keeper's magic. Helene, however, felt at a loss. Disbelief rebelled within her. Then, denial gave way to aggrieved acceptance before she could run her mouth. She pulled back her shoulder pad and the strap of her tight, tan-coloured top to assess the wound she'd received at the hands of the bereskarn, only to see that the mottled darkness to it was, no doubt, symptoms of the taint. Her skin, now, was so pale that it was more like a film pulled tight to her form, and the blue of her veins were prominent, pronounced. Before Fenarel could argue on her behalf, she glanced up. "Perhaps there is… something to what you say." She said, bravely. Fenarel's eyes widened. "<em>Lethallan<em>?"  
>She overlooked him, her face calm but nevertheless melancholic. "What do you propose I do?" She asked of the Warden. She didn't know it, but Duncan favoured her resilient character. He tipped his head in her direction in acknowledgement of this, a gesture that was not understood by Helene, and turned to face the looking-glass that was bigger, even, than he. "First, we deal with the mirror. It is a pestilence and a threat." He said, drawing his sword.<br>Merrill let out a gasp, and darted forwards as if to stop him. "Wait—but—!"  
>She didn't get far enough. Duncan slammed the side of his sword's hilt into the surface of the artefact. Helene half-expected the blade to pass through in the way Tamlen's fingertips had seemed to, but the glass shattered on impact and blew inwards. There was a tinkling echo that filled the dim room, followed quickly by a blast. The destruction of the mirror brought blinding light that caused the four of them to recoil and shield their eyes, Duncan stepping back from the platform of the mirror. The Tevinter mages that had shouldered the object groaned, the frame splitting in two with each stone mage keeling to either side.<br>When the mirror gave a final groan and settled into scattered pieces of debris, Duncan turned back to face the three elves. "It is done," He said. Merrill's lips parted sadly.  
>"Now, let's leave this cursed place. I must speak with the Keeper immediately regarding your cure, Miss….?"<br>"Mahariel," Helene gave him her surname, formally. She bowed her head in respect.  
>Duncan nodded again, and the trio parted to give him room to pass through the middle of them.<br>Merrill, however, cast a glance at the shattered fragments of the mirror. Light that broke through the ruins' ceiling glittered and danced over the glass panes. She let out a sigh. "How could he just- destroy it like that?" she muttered to herself, voice barely above a whisper.  
>Fenarel, however, heard her. "Merrill… look at what it did, is there any wonder? Tamlen is gone, and Mahariel is still sick!"<br>"The Keeper might have wanted to look at it," Merrill hissed back, keeping her voice low. "It might have been useful to us."  
>He shook his head. "You're mad, Merrill. You're a fool if you think anything good can come from that thing," At this Fenarel walked on ahead, leaving her to look over the mirror-shards sadly.<br>Helene watched Duncan's retreating back as he headed to the door. Some part of her that refused to give up suddenly burst free from her, and she found herself demanding: "But what about Tamlen?"  
>Duncan stopped, but did not turn. "There is nothing we can do."<br>"I'm still alive! He could be too! I won't leave without him. I… He- He can't be… " She ranted, barely taking a breath. Then, after a moment of deliberation, a hand came up to her head in defeat. She reigned her rebellious side in, and looked down at her feet, at the cracked flagstone floor, at anything but Duncan's face and let out a sigh. "… Is he- dead then? Are you certain?"  
>Duncan cast her a sympathetic look and stepped over to place his hands on her shoulders. His grip was strong and consoling. "Let me be very clear: there is <em>nothing <em>you can do for him. He's been tainted for three days now, unaided. Through your Keeper's healing arts and your own willpower, you did not die, but Tamlen has no chance. Trust me when I say that he is _gone_. Now, we should return."  
>Fenarel, however, spoke up too. "Won't there at least be a body to be had? I'm not ready to give up the search yet!"<br>But Helene had, all her drive had left her in one fell swoop. Tamlen was gone, she knew it in her heart, and remaining here searching for just a trace of him would be unnecessary torture. "Fenarel… let's… let us return."  
>Fenarel deflated, and hung his head in disappointment. He didn't argue with her; Helene suspected he truly felt the same as she.<br>Merrill was distractedly eyeing the mirror-shards when she next spoke. "We will return later, search through the ruins. We could learn from many things here…"  
>"This cave is not safe. Everything here was exposed to the mirror's taint. If your people must come here, they should cleanse it with fire." Duncan instructed. "For now, however, I sense no other darkspawn nearby. We should make haste."<p>

When the camp was in sight, Helene almost collapsed with relief. Somehow she had made it through that awful journey back to those ruins, but she didn't feel better for it. Breathing was beginning to become a chore, she could catch a slight wheeze at the end of each her breaths, and veins that were not even close to the surface of her skin were beginning to become apparent through its gossamer evanescence.  
>Fenarel departed not long after they arrived, dejected. He'd placed a tender hand on Helene's back in a wordless gesture of farewell, before returning to his tent in order to pack it away into the nearest aravel. Merrill, however, stayed and helped her slowly-debilitating companion over to see the Keeper, with Duncan in tow.<br>When they were but a few feet away, Marethari ducked out of her aravel as though she'd been expecting them to arrive. She swept over to them, her face calm and partially relieved until she registered that Duncan was in the group. She tried to fix her eyes on Helene, but her glance kept drifting over to the Warden curiously. "I'm relieved you have returned, Mahariel. And… I did not expect to see you again so soon, Duncan."  
>"I was not expecting to return so soon either, Keeper." He replied tonelessly.<br>"Dare I ask of Tamlen?" Marethari asked of the two young girls. "What did you find of him?"  
>Helene looked up, and Marethari noted that a light had gone out in her eyes. They were soulless, void – without hope. When Helene spoke she did so quietly. "Nothing… he is gone. Duncan says there is nothing we can do for him."<br>Marethari frowned. "I see…" She said. "Merrill, what about the mirror? Did you bring anything back?"  
>Merrill shifted where she stood, biting the inside of her lip. <em>I intend to… <em>she thought with conviction. "I—"  
>"I can answer that, Keeper." Duncan spoke for her. "I destroyed the mirror."<br>Merrill notably winced and Helene glanced at her in dismayed surprise. Why should Merrill be upset at the loss of an object that caused such misery? That had caused such damage to her?  
>Marethari was stoic, giving Duncan the opportunity to appeal to her. "I… had intended to use it to find a cure for this mysterious illness. I trust you had good reasons for your actions?" She asked him.<br>Duncan nodded. "There is much to discuss, Keeper. I have learned a great deal since I was last here."  
>Marethari motioned to the portable caravan behind her with both hands. "Let us speak privately within my aravel then, Duncan. Merrill, warn the hunters. If darkspawn are about, I want the clan prepared."<br>"_Ma nuvenin, _Keeper. Right away." Merrill bowed slightly, and headed off through camp.  
>Marethari now turned to Helene. "<em>Da'len, <em>allow me some time to speak with Duncan. Seek us out here soon, then we'll discuss your cure."  
>"Very well, Keeper."<br>"Tell _Hahren _Paivel what has occurred. He now has the sad task of preparing a service for the dead." This Marethari said with such grief that her face creased with pain. She took a breath, and collected herself, turning towards her aravel. "Follow me, Duncan. I am eager to hear what you have to say."  
>The Keeper lifted a flap of the aravel that shrouded a doorway, and stepped in, followed closely by the sombre human Warden. Helene watched them go, suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of loss that threatened to consume her as the information began to sink in. Tamlen was… gone. Perhaps dead. They didn't even have a body to mourn; no evidence that he ever even existed. The boy that used to get her into all sorts of trouble adventuring ever since they were children, who used to make up fantastical stories and share them with her, sometimes frightening the life out of her. The boy that one day, maybe, if she had set her mind to it, maybe she could have fallen for. Maybe if she had changed, or if he had changed, maybe if she had stopped telling herself he was no more than a brother-figure…<br>Her eyes filled, but the tears would not come. No, pretending she could ever have loved him was an insult to his memory, and she was only victimising and guilt-tripping herself.  
>She began to make her way over to Paivel, but faltered halfway. The elder had been watching her ever since she'd arrived, and closed the gap to relieve the strain. She was frail, and he didn't like the look of her. "So you have returned with the Grey Warden, but without Tamlen. What happened, <em>da'len<em>? Is he truly lost to us?"  
>Helene's throat was dry. "The Warden says that he is but I… I do not want to believe it. I failed the clan, I am truly sorry, <em>hahren<em>." Her voice gave, and she found herself incapable of formulating anymore words. Paivel's face aged in the space of seconds. "So you say, but… _da'len_, he must be gone, else he would have returned, or showed some trace." He shut his eyes then, pain etching deeper wrinkles into his brow, and sighed. "… Another of our children—perished. To think I'd live to see this… It seems the will of the Creators that I sing the dirge for those that I held in my arms as babes." He turned to the hearth that had been built up into a pyre since Helene left, what had been used to burn the goods they would not take with them when the camp moved on. Now he stared into it as though Tamlen's body were inside, cremating, and he mourned. "I think I know why our immortal ancestors would sleep…" He mused, before crouching down before the pyre, reciting. "'Swiftly do stars burn a path across the sky, hastening to place one last kiss upon your eye. Tenderly, land enfolds you in slumber, softening the rolling thunder. Dagger: now sheathed, bow: no longer tense. During this, your last hour, only silence.'" The funerary poem was apt, and whilst it soothed Paivel, it cut Helene deep. Her eyes stung. "The… The Keeper wishes for you to prepare a service for Tamlen."  
>Paivel sighed again. "Of course. We've no body to return to the soil, but we shall still sing for him. The Creators must come to guide him to the Beyond. Tell the Keeper it shall be done before the clan is ready to move on."<br>"Thank you, _hahren_."  
>At this he turned and raised himself off of his knees. Now he was guarded, eyes narrowed somewhat. "I ask only one thing, if I may. This… Grey Warden. You have met him now, yes? Is he a good man?"<br>"He seems… honourable." Helene said with some degree of thought. "He saved my life, _hahren_, I owe him everything."  
>"Honourable? For a <em>shemlen<em>? Interesting. What is it he talks to the Keeper about, I wonder?"  
>"My cure,"<br>The elder before her paused, staring at her in question and concern. "But… you are already cured, Mahariel."  
>"I… Yes, that is what I mean, <em>hahren<em>. Speaking of which, I must return to them. May the Creators watch over us." Helene excused, before departing hurriedly. She wasn't sure why she had felt the need to lie to him, but somehow she hadn't quite been able to bring herself to tell him that she was still at death's door.  
>She waited for what felt like half-hour, wandering aimlessly around the camp, trying desperately not to think while hoping to give the two that were discussing her future enough time. By the time she'd returned to the Keeper's aravel, Duncan was stood waiting for her.<br>"Your Keeper and I have spoken, and we've come to an arrangement that concerns you." He said gravely. Marethari, too, emerged, looking tired. Duncan glanced at her once before focusing back on Helene. "My order is in need of help, you are in need of a cure. When I leave, I hope you will join me; you would make an excellent Grey Warden."  
>Helene's eyes widened, stunned. It took even her own alert perception a while to process all that had been said. When she thought she caught the drift of his words, her heart seemed to drop from her chest to the pit of her stomach. Unsure how to even think of what he had told her, she turned to Marethari for guidance. "Keeper? Wh-?" Her gaze was met immediately by the Keeper's saddened eyes, and so she turned back, trying to keep her face calm, if not a little pretentious. "I cannot just leave my clan. What does this have to do with my cure?"<br>The Keeper placed a hand on the top of Helene's arm and rubbed her there soothingly, consoling her. "You are to become a Grey Warden, _da'len. _Your life depends on it."  
><em>My... My<em> life?  
>Duncan nodded his head once. "The darkspawn taint courses through your veins. That you recovered at all is remarkable. But eventually the taint will sicken and kill you, or worse. The Grey Wardens can prevent that, but it means joining us. It is the only way the cure can be realised. As sole protectors against the darkspawn, we're granted some… immunity to the taint. But this is not charity – we enlist only the worthy and you… have certainly proven yourself."<br>Helene hesitated, face rumpling in sorrow and confusion. _So, it is not something that they can just give… _She surmised with a mental sigh. She sucked in a deep breath before asking bravely: "Then, will I ever be able to rejoin my clan?"  
>Duncan shook his head. Somewhere, far off, Helene thought she heard a halla cry. "… It's unlikely you'll ever be able to return here."<br>Helene's composure faltered. "Keeper? This is all- very sudden…"  
>"A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south, a new Blight threatens the land… we cannot outrun the storm. Long ago, the Dalish agreed to aid the Grey Wardens against a Blight should that day arrive. We must honour that agreement." Marethari's face fell. Helene had never seen her more serious, or more sorry. "It… It breaks my heart to send you away, as it would to watch you die slowly from this sickness. This is your duty… and your salvation."<br>_This is all I've ever known…. This is my home… _Helene thought despairingly, glancing around herself slowly so as to absorb the view – her camp, her kinfolk, the forest, the fresh and open air, the wildlife. Her nomad lifestyle, her freedom – all dissolving rapidly. Life as she knew it was slipping out of her grasp. Should she dare reach out and cling to it, she was frightened the memories would fade like wisps of smoke, and dart through her desperate fingers.  
>Her honour would not allow her to crumble. She raised her chin, in defiance of her own doubt and regret. "Then I… I accept my duty, Keeper, and your privilege, Duncan, if you will have me."<br>Duncan crossed his arms over his chest, hands clenched into his fists against his collarbone, and bowed. "I welcome you to the Order. It is rare to have a Dalish amongst us, but they have always served with distinction."  
>"I know you'll do your clan proud, <em>da'len<em>." Marethari put in, before retrieving a small item from an internal pocket of her robe. "Here, take this ring. It is your heritage and will protect you against the darkness to come."  
>Helene accepted it without truly seeing it, and slipped it onto her finger without a word, without a thought. A memento of her clan; she would cherish it always.<br>"Are you ready to go?" Duncan prompted.  
>"I would like to stay for Tamlen's funeral, and say my goodbyes, if it is all the same to you, ser." This she said tightly, not trusting herself to say much more.<br>"Very well then, but do so quickly, for we have much ground to cover." Duncan said, his tone kind and honourable. Helene felt the pressure that his tone of voice did not push; they could not stay long.  
>Marethari let out a breath, one that sounded as though she had been holding it in since she'd stepped out of her aravel. She wrapped a comforting arm around Helene, and began to direct her away, to walk with her. "Mahariel, before the Creators guide you from us, let your clan embrace you one last time."<p>

Night had fallen. A blanket of stars hung in the evening sky, and a haloed moon illuminated the solemn event below. The whole clan had gathered, and were stood in arced formations around the fire that had been erected in the centre of what was left of the camp.  
>"<em>Len na melana sahlin.<br>__Emma ir abelas souver'inan isala hamin vhenan him dor'felas.  
><em>_In Uthenera na revas."  
><em>The funerary rite was spoken by Paivel, and replicated in a hollow voice by a dispirited Merrill, beside him. The ancient elvish danced off of their tongues, and seemed to float upwards to the Beyond as they chanted it into the winds. The flames of the funerary pyre writhed within its cage of wood, feeling for a body to consume, though not a one could be fed to it.  
>"<em>Vir sulahn'nehn,<br>__vir dirthera,  
><em>_vir samahl la numin,  
><em>_vir lath sa'vunin."  
><em>The flames crackled and snapped in response, churning flaming ashes into the night air and casting an amber glow on the faces of those stood nearest: Merrill, Fenarel, and Helene amongst them. There was no warmth in the heat that emanated from the pyre; nothing could rectify the chill in the bones of the Dalish this night.  
>"… <em>Dareth shiral, <em>Tamlen." Helene breathed. She bowed her head. In her mind's eye she could see him, giving her one last cheeky smile. Then he turned and stepped into foggy darkness.  
><em>Journey safe, <em>lethallin_…_

There were no more words. Helene had packed all the worldly goods she would need for the voyage onward, before accepting a tight embrace from her surrogate mother. Ashalle's legs buckled beneath her, dragging Helene with her to the ground as she held the girl to her. Twenty-one years of love and care, and her ward was to be snatched from her, stolen by the Blight. It was almost more than she could bear.  
>For what felt like the first time, Helene wept.<br>After she emerged from her tent - one of the last to be packed away until it could be re-pitched in the Sunderlands - she secured her quiver of arrows to her back and slung her weapon over her shoulder using a newly tied bowstring. She could see, up ahead, that Duncan was waiting for her, a respectable distance away from her clansmen, on the crest of a hill. His silverite armour gleamed like liquid moonshine, spotlighted in the dark.  
>Her kin were arranged in two columns, creating a path for her. They were all watching her solemnly. As Helene made her way through and past them, her heart seemed to sink lower and lower, growing heavier with each step. Fenarel refused to look at her directly, his eyes stinging and fogged over with sorrow. Junar nodded in a silent farewell. The elders all maintained bowed heads as though they were attending a second funeral. One of the last Helene was to pass, Merrill was struggling to maintain a veneer of acceptance. She was crying fitfully at the end of the row, and as soon as Helene was close enough, her heart wrenched. Helene's own composure broke and she wrapped her arms around her friend for one last embrace, pulling her close.<br>Merrill was frightened. For Helene, for herself, for the clan, and for Ferelden. One of their own, who knew so little of the human world, would soon be gone forever.  
>Merrill wanted to ask if she would ever see her friend again, but by the time she looked up Helene had already pulled away at the gesture of Marethari's held-out hand. Helene took it wordlessly, and squeezed the elder's hand tightly.<br>_Daughter of the clan… be safe_, Marethari thought pleadingly, clutching Helene's hand – just trying to _feel _her for as long as she could before she walked out of their lives for good. When she found the strength to let her go, she watched as Helene withdrew, and took the path that wound up the incline, atop which Duncan stood.  
>With one final glance over her shoulder, Helene drank in the sight of her kin, a picture that she etched into her mind so finely in order to conjure it back whenever she felt the need. And she would feel the need, time and again.<br>She turned, and with that, her life with the Dalish was over.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<br>**The end of the Dalish Origin was switched to a night-time scene as opposed to an afternoon one for storytelling benefit.  
>The Elvish spoken during Tamlen's funeral is a version from the Codex entry here - .comwiki/Codex_entry:_In_Uthenera -  
>and is also the funerary rite used my Merrill in the <em>Long Way Home<em> quest of DA2, so you can expect to see it again. For the translation, follow the  
>link above. Here 'Len' ('child') was used instead of 'hahren' ('elder') due to Tamlen's age. In elvish terms, he's still a child, even for a young man.<br>Most of the Elvish words have obvious or implied meanings, or meanings that should be known by Dragon Age fans as is, so I will not  
>be translating single words. If in any doubt, look here: .comwiki/Elven_language.


	7. Chapter Six: Birds of Prey

**CHAPTER SIX: **BIRDS OF PREY

* * *

><p><em>"If you were to hesitate to take flight, and your perch were to crumble from <em>  
><em>beneath you, take comfort: for you still have wings."<em>

* * *

><p><span>Carver and Eden<span>

"Stop prodding it, lad. Let it be."  
>The tavern was decidedly busy for a Sunday afternoon; merchants were nestled in the corner with their wares spread out over tables, patrons milling about and ogling the few barmaids, small orphans darting between legs. The sound of thunder and rain outside was deafening, and hammered the building so much so that at one point the merchant acting as bartender, Barlin, even had to sidestep a drop of water that fell ominously from the ceiling. As soon as it began to drip sporadically, he put a tankard beneath the falling water and let it be.<br>Barlin sniffed, wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and kept polishing an old tankard with a grimy cloth, eyeing up the eighteen-year-old on the other side of the bar.  
>Carver Hawke was a proud, bitter teenager who wasn't exactly happy with his lot in life. He'd signed up to military service two and a half years ago after the sudden death of his father, and even though he was now the head of his family he still wasn't satisfied. He had a mop of dark hair, and bright, baby blue eyes, which were currently narrowed as he poked his new mabari tattoo. "When will it stop hurting?"<br>"Give it time. I got one of me own Blighted things. Don't be such a girl,"  
>Carver sat up straight and drank the rest of his ale, before pushing his tankard away from him. "How long do you think the rain will last, Barlin?" He asked, motioning to the door behind him. He couldn't help but think how it would sodden the ground he was about to trek when he and the boys left for Ostagar in the morning. That was all he needed, traipsing through mud on the way to his doom.<br>Barlin shrugged and spat into the mug on the floor that was slowly filling with water. "Damned if I know. Me crops want a drink, not a drowning,"  
>Carver quirked a smile. He liked Barlin. The man was obnoxious, cranky and rude and Carver sure as hell planned to be like him when he was old enough to get away with it. The merchant didn't like small-talk, he looked after number one and he wasn't one to prod. Carver was, therefore, surprised when the elderly man suddenly looked up and asked: "How are yer sisters?"<br>Carver tensed up, but only a little. "Both fine," He said, guardedly.  
>"Mm." Barlin said at first, and so Carver hoped that that would be the end of it. It wasn't. "Haven't seen either of 'em in a while. Bet you a sovereign both of them be fighting lads off with sticks,"<br>The 'sticks' comment didn't sit well with Carver. "Sticks? W-What makes you say that?"  
>"It's nought but a saying, lad,"<br>"O-Oh… right," He settled down once again on his barstool, and began playing with the rings of liquid left by his tankard on the countertop. Barlin watched him closely, eyes narrowed slightly.  
>Alarm bells always went off in Carver's head when he was probed about his sisters. They were a family that tried to remain on the fringes of the village of Lothering, and mostly kept to themselves. In truth, most of the village didn't like them, especially now that Malcolm, Carver's charismatic father, was dead. The two girls were hardly around, and their mother carried about her an air of aristocratic self-importance that alienated a lot of the villagers without her even realising. Carver had a feeling that Barlin recognised the reason his sisters were rarely frequent in the village, but suspecting and knowing are two different things.<br>Carver raised his defences once again when Barlin leaned over the bar. "Yer sisters… take after their father, don't they?"  
>Carver bit the inside of his lip and tried to stare at a grain pattern in the countertop. "What makes you say that?" He asked flatly.<br>"Well… they look like 'im. They both have a way with folks, when they're actually around 'em. Don't visit the village much, do they?"  
>"No," Carver ached for another drink.<br>"Been wondering for quite some time now, Carver, er… your sisters ain't—well, you know…"  
>Carver shut his eyes tight and clenched his fists. Here it would come: the accusations, the truth, it would all spill out and if Barlin were to say it loud enough, even if he had every intention of keeping it a secret, someone would surely hear, and then….<br>"… they're shy, ain't they?"  
>"Shy?" He opened an eye, squinting, barely daring to hope.<br>"Aye. How have you all coped since ol' Malcolm croaked?"  
>"We've… coped," Carver said hesitantly, inwardly flinching at the mention of his father's death.<br>Barlin nodded, itched his bald scalp and sniffed. "He was a good man your pa, good sense o' humour," Putting down the tankard he'd been polishing, he went to get Carver another drink. Outside, the rain began to ease.  
>"I miss him," Carver admitted. He accepted the second round of ale gratefully, and began drinking it down in deep gulps.<br>The noise of the tavern seemed to pick up as if to smother his insecurities, breaking down his walls. A group of men behind him roared with laughter, the infectious kind that, at the very least, placed a grin on nearby faces. Carver relaxed and cracked a smile. "… I'm going to make a name for myself at Ostagar, Barlin,"  
>He didn't know how long it had been since King Cailan had received news that a Blight was brewing, if not already on their doorstep, but the call to arms had come not a week ago. Carver and his militia were marching south tomorrow, and much as he viewed the experience pessimistically, he was hopeful nonetheless that he could live through it, and gain some renown. He'd rebelled, he hadn't wanted to be sat at home and compared to his elder sister; all he'd ever wanted was to step out on his own. Besides, Mother had insisted that he would make trouble in Lothering off his own back, so why not get sent into trouble and earn from it?<br>Carver scrubbed distractedly at the mahogany bar-top. This was something he could do, he could serve his country. Eden, for instance, couldn't.  
>At the thought of his older sister, his face creased up slightly with envy and he took a gulp of his ale. <em>Eden… <em>It wasn't because she was a woman, plenty of women made fine soldiers these days in Ferelden. It was because of what she was – what Bethany was, too – a magic-user. A mage.  
>Mages were feared in Thedas, and locked away - by orders of the Chantry - for 'their own protection'. If a child were to show signs of magic, and the Templars - the Chantry's military wing - found out about it, they would be snatched and housed in a Circle of Magi. In all likelihood, they would never see their family again. Eden and Bethany? They had not been caught by Templars. Yet. They were 'apostates', mages that went against the doctrine of the Chantry, and lived outside of the Circle. All they had learnt, they'd learnt from their father. Malcolm Hawke had been a mage too.<br>Carver couldn't remember quite how it had started. He assumed that their parents, at first, hadn't wanted to lose their two daughters, not when they were so young. But then, too, Malcolm Hawke had been in a Circle once, he had lived it, suffered it, and he hadn't wanted his girls to follow that path. He thought he knew better than any Templar, any brother or sister of the Chantry, and that he could raise his girls to control their powers and hide their magic. He'd succeeded well enough. But now their father was dead, and Carver was the one left in charge of keeping the family secret a secret. Sometimes the pressure was almost too much to bear.  
>"—ver? Carver? Lad, get yer head out of the clouds,"<br>"Sorry, what?"  
>"You were daydreaming,"<br>Carver shook his head, and looked down into his now-empty mug of ale. He made a face, and sighed.  
>"I said 'good luck to yer'. Wouldn't catch me fighting no war at my age. But you, you're a young'un yet,"<br>"Mm," Carver suddenly realised something. The static noise that had clung in the air, always in the background, since he'd run sopping into Dane's Tavern, had ceased. He raised his head, eyebrows high. "The rain's stopped?"  
>"That is has," Barlin confirmed.<br>"Thank the Maker for that," Carver stood and pushed back his stool, the audible scrape making those in the immediate area wince.  
>It was then that the bell over the door jingled and he turned to catch sight of a tall, raven-haired girl entering the tavern. The hood of her cloak was wet with rain. She knocked it back with the shake of her head, a small scrap of hair barely worth tying into a ponytail flitting back and forth as she did so. She began looking around her, face pleasant but her expression otherwise unreadable, a pair of haunting blue-grey eyes searching the faces of those littering the many seats and benches around her. Her skin was pale, as though she didn't get enough sun, but her complexion rosy. Her face, heart-shaped, was complimented with soft, sweeping cheekbones.<br>Carver's heart sank. "Andraste's ass…"  
>"Carver?" Eden began to make her way over, but the eighteen-year-old boy turned around brashly.<br>Barlin's face lit up, something of a rare occurrence. "Well if it ain't Eden Hawke. We were just talking about yer,"  
>"Hello, Barlin," Eden smiled a disarming, radiant smile, and Carver rolled his eyes. Miss Golden Girl, Miss The-Maker's-light-shines-out-of-her-every-orifice.<br>"Come to collect yer little brother?"  
>Carver made to open his mouth, to object, but Eden got there before him. She raised a hand placidly. "We're only a year apart. Don't belittle him too much,"<br>Carver wanted to both embrace her and knock her flat. "What are you doing here?" he said instead.  
>"Just asking when you plan to come home, is all. Mother's cooked a meal. Last evening together before you're off fighting the Blight, and all that?"<br>Carver looked around, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He had a feeling that every man in the tavern would be staring at his sister; they usually did after they first caught sight of her. Thankfully, no one was looking, and no one was paying attention, for now, at least. She was a big fish in a small pond, and she usually drew stares. She was beautiful, yes, but she emitted an air of mystery. No one was to know her 'mystery' was magic. Being an enigma made you a challenge, but it made her untouchable. You could look, you could ask after her, but actually getting time with Eden Hawke was rare, if not impossible.  
>"Let's go, sister," Carver said shortly.<br>"I'll be seeing you kids," Barlin waved, chuckling to himself. "Don't get yourself killed, boy,"  
>"I don't plan to," Carver sniffed, before brushing past Eden and heading for the door. She, at first, watched him go, exhaling an exasperated breath before following him. She thought she'd let him feel like he was leading her, but all Carver felt like was a petulant child being stalked by his minder. He slipped out of the tavern, and made his way over the lawn and out towards the dirt track that wound through the village.<br>"Carver…"  
>"What?" he answered shortly.<br>"What have I done wrong now?"  
>He stopped, before he looked quickly back at his sister. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her eyes having taken on a silver sheen as they often did when she was particularly upset or angry, and her lips were primed to pout. She looked as though she were about-ready to negotiate, or compromise; she was quite the diplomat.<br>Carver sighed. "Nothing," he admitted. "You're just you,"  
>She caught up with him, brushing her dark fringe out of her eyes. "I <em>told<em> Mother to send Bethany instead of me,"  
>He didn't know what to make of that. He didn't want his sister to feel like she couldn't approach him. "Look, sister, it's nothing personal."<br>"Isn't it?"  
>"You're just—I'm not 'you'. You're perfect. Ever since we were kids, it was always 'why can't you be more like Eden?', 'why don't you listen to your sister?', 'why can't you follow her example?' and I'm—sick of it,"<br>Eden frowned, her fringe almost overshadowing her eyes. "So you're blaming me? Nobody's perfect, Carver, and I certainly couldn't be further from it."  
>He shook his head, struggling to find the words. "It's just- Mother and Father put you on a pedestal so high that you couldn't <em>jump <em>down without hurting yourself. So just- don't. You're my sister; I respect you, I love you, but I want my own life. Away from here."  
>"Away from me," she surmised.<br>Carver didn't even need to respond to prove her right. He looked away bitterly, before sighing, running a hand through his shaggy hair and marching off, heading home. Eden watched his retreating back, quietly contemplating, her heart having fallen low in her chest.  
>They had been close once, hadn't they? Certainly not as close as he and Bethany – they were twins, after all – but still. What had she done wrong, when had there ever been a time when she had alienated him?<br>_He's just jealous_, Eden tried to tell herself. But jealous of what? Her magic? Magic was a curse; no one understood that better than Carver. Was it because she was the first-born? Even so, he was the only son; by all rights _he _was the heir.  
>Her head started to ache, as it always did when she thought on her strained relationship with her brother. She knew he would be there for her every minute of every day, but, also, resent every second. Simply put, they were rivals, and Eden wasn't sure quite when the competition had started.<br>Trying not to think on it, she began trudging on home after him. Maybe for one evening he would be pleasant to her. Just maybe.

"_Voila_! Beef stew _à la_ Hawke!" Mother announced, brandishing the still-steaming cooking pot, ready to divide out the dinner portions. The three siblings groaned simultaneously.  
>"Honestly!" Leandra scolded, dishing out the stew before placing the worn, filled bowls in front of her children with a sour look on her face. "Look, I know it's not Orlesian fine cuisine, but this is a family meal, and we are going to <em>enjoy <em>it." She said with gusto, sitting down at the head of the table. Leandra Hawke – née Amell – was in her late forties, but grief and years of living on the run had prematurely aged her. Her long hair was silvery, but her face was far from withered. Laughter lines and a few wrinkles seemed to add to her mature beauty rather than take away, her agate blue eyes the same shade as her eldest daughter's. She had a fair complexion, and a warm, open face that betrayed her oftentimes-morose personality. Had it not been for her hair, she could well have passed for ten years younger than she was. Eden took after her mother, every inch.  
>"I suppose this is better than the slop I'll be having from tomorrow," Carver commented, blowing on his spoon to cool his food.<br>"If you get to eat at all," Bethany said dryly.  
>"We're not thinking about that now, dears." Leandra cut in, beginning to eat with as much dignity as she could muster. "Carver, what did you find out in the tavern today?"<br>He sighed. "No one in the village suspects. Well, except maybe Barlin, but I could be being paranoid." He glared at his sisters, as if to say it should be their problem, not his.  
>"I didn't mean that. I meant about the Blight,"<br>For a lingering moment, there was silence. The resounding noise of fire crackling in the hearth filled the void, uncomfortable atmosphere, until Carver finally shrugged and shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth. "Well, I spoke to a soldier from Denerim, he was on his way south. He told me that the king is calling from troops as far north as The Coastlands, but so far its contained in Ferelden."  
>"They're taking it seriously, then?" Spoke Eden, looking down into her bowl with a resounding lack of appetite.<br>"Seems so. Some were talking about the noises that have been coming out of the Wilds at night."  
>"Ohh, don't." Bethany covered her ears with her hands and hung her head, to which Leandra shot her son a firm look.<br>"_What_?"  
>"Carver, don't,"<br>"This is real, Mother. We shouldn't pretend or sugar-coat it,"  
>"No one knows that better than I." She shot back, then, after taking a breath, a hand came up to her nurse her temple. "We should probably think about leaving…"<br>Carver folded his arms. "So, that's it then? As soon as I'm gone, you're buggering off? Thanks for the vote of confidence,"  
>"We wouldn't leave without you!" Leandra objected. "Just, promise me, Carver, as soon as this battle is over, you will come home?"<br>"Much as running off and starting anew sounds attractive…"  
>"Carver."<br>"… _yes_, I will come home."  
>"Good."<br>"But the darkspawn will be beaten, Mother. Then there'll be no reason to move on,"  
>Eden's shoulders tensed. He raised a fair point.<br>Leandra, however, shook her head. "I think I'd feel better about it, for all of our sakes,"  
>"What? And leave our home behind?" Her son snapped. "The house Father built with his bare hands? Really, Mother?"<br>"There are too many memories here. Your father once said that if a place began to be filled with memories or—or began to feel like 'home' then it was time to move on. He may be at the Maker's side now, but for Eden and Bethany's sake I would rather-"  
>"I'm <em>sick<em> of moving around, Mother. The Templars aren't my problem," Carver barked, rising from his seat as if to stand.  
>When Leandra replied, it was in a firm warning tone punctuated with deadly pauses. "They are a family problem, Carver Hawke, and, Maker have mercy, you are a part of this family."<br>Carver shut up, and stayed shut up.  
>After a long, steady pause that no one felt willing to break, Leandra looked around at the bowls resting on the table-top, and frowned. "Was the stew really that bad?"<p>

* * *

><p><span>Eden<span>

Night had fallen, and with it, sleep beckoned. The Hawke sisters had retired to their twin room, and Carver to his, while Leandra was waiting up in the parlour that doubled as her bedchambers. Eden could hear her mother in the next room, and with the sound of her sighs came the clink of metal: she was no doubt getting Carver's armour ready for the morning, with a heavy heart to boot.  
>Eden was struggling to 'turn off', to close her eyes, drift off and let go of her worries. She rolled over in her bed, nose almost pressed to the wall and forcibly shut her eyes tight. She had hoped the self-inflicted plunge into darkness would wipe her mind clean, but it didn't. Dark clouds gathered behind her closed lids. She didn't want to think about the Blight, she still wasn't sure if it were a threat to be taken seriously, but she couldn't take her mind off of it.<br>She had heard rumours, of streams of darkspawn emerging from the Wilds, stealing cattle and sheep – or rather, devouring them, tearing them limb from limb in their pens, sometimes even leaving severed heads of the beasts on spikes for the farmers to find in the morning. Traders had already written the village off as unapproachable, doomed, but life here was going on as normal. For now.  
>Eden had not seen a darkspawn since she was a child, and she had prayed to the Maker that she would never see another. Many parts of Thedas had never seen the monstrosities, but the Korcari Wilds were riddled with them. Whether the earth there between the Deep Roads and the surface was thin, Eden couldn't be sure, but the darkspawn seemed to claw their way out sporadically in small bands.<br>As a family they had travelled often, mainly when she was still a child, but the Hawkes had always seemed to drift in and out of the same area. They had lived near the Wilds once before, when Eden was no more than six. Just at the passing thought of that first encounter, the memories flooded back to her.

She was clutching a wooden staff in two hands that was a head taller than she, keeping close to her father as he navigated the edge of the Wilds. He had a dark shock of hair, a trait he had passed onto his three children, and a rugged, bearded face.  
>"Eden, you have to learn to keep your wits about you," Malcolm said.<br>She squinted up at him, reaching to clutch onto his hand. "For Templars, Papa?"  
>"No—well, yes, that too." He looked down at her, his usually twinkling eyes dark. "But there are unspeakable things in these Wilds."<br>"Then why are we here?"  
>"Good question. We're looking for an ingredient for a spell."<br>Mana sizzled down Eden's arm to her fingertips, and her little hands began to glow a faint blue. The area of the staff's shaft she was gripping began to frost, before freezing outright at her touch. "I don't need ingredients for spells,"  
>"Oh, you will, for some. But that's a lesson for another day, sweetheart," He glanced down at her staff, and raised an eyebrow. "Eden…"<br>"Thaw it," She finished his sentence, and the halo around her hands died as quickly as it had come. The ice melted from the pole into nothing, condensing into thin air.  
>"That's my girl," he ruffled her hair, briefly. "Say, why don't you toast that bush over there?" Malcolm pointed.<br>Eden followed the direction of his gesture and gaze to see he was motioning to a hedgerow, bigger than him, a good few yards away. "Why?"  
>"For target practise. I want to see how your control is coming along,"<br>"Mmn…." Her brow furrowed, and she stuck her tongue slightly out of the corner of her lips as she sometimes did when she was concentrating.  
>"Focus on it…"<br>"I am," She said simply. She lowered the staff to a horizontal position, directing it towards the foliage in the distance. She imagined the fire burning within her, imagined an ember flitting free and travelling down her arm, to her hands and…. She channelled the fireball through the staff, and it shot out the end, flying surely to the bush, where it hit and began to smoulder.  
>"See? That wasn't so bad now, was it?"<br>Elation filled her, as it often did when her father complimented her. Child prodigy, her mother had said. Six years old and already able to summon the elements.  
>The bush began to rustle.<br>At first Eden thought it was the fire, making it look as though it were trembling. Then she panicked, thinking she might have roasted innocent wildlife. _A rabbit? I have to save it! _She thought desperately, making to run over to it.  
>The hedge shook violently. Eden thought she saw a gleam of silver, thought she saw the bush spit out a section of charred branches and foliage after an ominous 'thwack'. Almost as if something were hacking it's way through it.<br>"… Papa?"  
>She'd covered half of the distance over to the now-ablaze hedge when the monster ran out. Eden's eyes went as wide as dinner plates, her mouth falling open. A second later, she let out a high-pitched scream. "<em>Papa<em>!"  
>She forgot everything. At six, the instinct of 'flight' won out over 'fight', and she dropped her staff. The only problem was, when she tried to move her legs, she couldn't. She was paralysed with fear.<br>The creature was snarling, grunting and roaring from the back of its throat, a guttural, alien noise that turned her numb with terror. She heard her father behind her call out her name, knew that he was dashing over to her rescue, but all she could see was the creatures' eyes – eyes that would watch her in her sleep for years to come – and it's hold on the cleaver in its hands.  
>Its appearance was etched into her memory: rotting flesh, grey, purpling skin marbled and blotchy with internal bleeding, some areas of membrane so translucent that the organs beneath were visible, and the eyes: shrouded by a pearly-white film like a corpse's, but bloodshot, with dark centres that told you: there was no Maker.<br>She almost wet herself.  
>That was when Father ran in front of her, shielded her with his body and blocked her view. She thought she heard him growl, like an animal protecting its cub, before he did something she could not see. He clawed his hands, faced them palm-to-palm, and gripped the air as if he were really holding something palpable. Then, he pulled. Eden saw this motion at least, as his elbows shot back. She heard a 'popping' sound, an explosion, and then from around the shape of her father's body she could see pieces of flesh and entrails flying in all directions. When she peered out from behind her father, the monster was gone. Or, it was from the waist-upwards, at least. As she watched, a pair of legs twitched, and then slumped to the side.<br>Father was gasping, his body sagging, as though that one action had cost him all of his energy. A hand came up to his face, thumbs running over his closed lids and down to his cheeks as he sighed. "Eden… you didn't just see that—thing," he panted heavily.  
>Eden swallowed her desire to be sick. Her stomach was in knots. "What was it?" she whimpered.<br>Father levied her a look. "Now what did I just say?" Shaking his head, he offered her his hand. "Come on, love." When Eden hesitated too long to take it, Malcolm instead placed his hand on her back and gave her a helpful push along, prompting her into walking. She kept up his pace for a yard or two, but the macabre curiosity of a child forced her into throwing a sly look back over her shoulder at the motionless remaining form of the monster that had ambushed them.  
>"Eden."<br>She winced.  
>"Keep walking,"<br>"Yes, Papa," And she did.

"_Eden_?" A soft voice whispered behind her. So, Bethany couldn't sleep either?  
>"Mmn?" She replied. Her skin was still crawling from the memory.<br>There was the sound of rustling, of bedding being pulled back, and footsteps padding over to her bed. "Are you awake?"  
>"Barely. What is it, Bethany?"<br>Eden's bed sheets were lifted, letting the Fereldan cold seep in and chill her bones. Bethany crawled in next to her sister, placing a hand on her shoulder, looking for comfort. "Eden, do you… think the Blight is real?"  
>Eden shut her eyes tight, not wanting to think about it any more. "I don't know,"<br>"So then… do you think it's safe to stay here? In Lothering, I mean?" Bethany began gripping onto the sheets, lying on her back now, staring up at the ceiling with fragile brown eyes.  
>Eden wanted to coddle her, to tell her what she wanted to hear rather than the truth. She wanted to be the big sister, to dust off her sister's knees and tell her things would be okay, to chase away the shadows and tell her that monsters didn't exist. She couldn't. Bethany wasn't a child, she was eighteen. "Honestly?" She rolled over in time to catch her younger sister nod numbly. Eden's face fell. "No,"<br>Bethany sucked in a breath. Her eyes dilated, shining with wetness, but then she blinked, and they were brave once more. "Carver might not even come back from the battle at Ostagar. What will we do then? I suppose Mother will have to get a job, and marry us off. If we even survive the Blight."  
>Eden's eyebrows rose, her skin paling. "Hey, now, don't talk like that…"<br>Bethany bit the inside of her lip for a moment, sinking under the covers. She pulled them up to her nose, looking to the side. "Do you think- Do you think we could ever find anyone to accept us for what we are? As mages?"  
>Eden sat up, turning to her sister, leaning most of her body-weight on one side. She knew what she meant, she meant romantically, though she didn't dare ask where this topic had suddenly come from. "… Eventually," she encouraged.<br>"Sometimes I'm not so sure,"  
>Eden shook her head, brushing her sister's hair out of her eyes. "Come on, now. Think of all that Mother gave up for Father. She accepted him for what he was; of course it's possible,"<br>Bethany rolled her eyes and let go of the covers, letting them slip to her collar. "Yes, but we women are much more romantic than men." She tried not to smile.  
>Eden could have laughed, could have agreed, but she didn't want to let her sister give up hope. Her face softened, and she pulled her close. "Bethany, there's someone out there for everyone,"<br>"Like… soulmates?" Bethany giggled, leaning into her. "Maybe for you, Eden."  
>"Would I lie to you?"<br>"You're a very convincing big sister, but I'm not a kid anymore." She shut her eyes, and let out a breath. "Can I bunk with you, just for tonight?"  
>"Not a kid, eh?"<br>Bethany reddened, and was about to say something in her defence, but stopped herself when Eden settled down beside her. "No matter how old you are, you're still my little sister, Bethany,"  
>The two smiled, and, just for a moment, forgot the looming darkspawn threat.<br>Eventually, they both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>

I wasn't originally going to introduce the Hawke's yet, but it worked out better this way. Chapters seven,  
>eight and nine should be along soon. It feels good to finally get away from Helene!<p>

Oh, and it's called "Dane's Refuge" on the map _but _since there are no refugees as of yet, I figured it's  
>simply "Dane's Tavern" for now. Also, I modelled Malcolm Hawke on the default male Hawke. I'm not<br>quite sure why, but I've always pictured him as an older version of that look.

In the next chapter, we're onto another set of twins!


End file.
